BETWEEN   THE  ACTS 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

NEIGHBOURS   OF   OURS 

IN   THE   VALLEY   OF   TOPHET 

THE   THIRTY   DAYS'   WAR   BETWEEN 

GREECE   AND   TURKEY 
LADYSMITH  :    THE  DIARY  OF   A   SIEGE 
THE   PLEA   OF   PAN 


Printed  in  Great  Britain 


PREFACE 


THE  pleasantest  times  in  a  drama  are  gener- 
ally the  intervals  between  the  acts.  The 
tension,  if  there  has  been  any  tension,  is  loosened  ; 
if  there  has  been  laughter,  it  has  left  a  cheery 
mood  ;  and,  at  the  worst,  the  boredom  is  over. 
We  turn  to  converse  with  fellow-men,  to  praise, 
to  criticise,  and  to  suggest  the  improvements 
that  the  author  might  so  easily  have  made.  Or 
we  may  brood  over  the  past  act  in  silence  till  we 
see  it  concentrated  into  a  single  dramatic  moment, 
perhaps  into  a  single  sentence.  Or  some  ap- 
parently insignificant  episode  may  dwell  in  the 
mind,  and  from  that  starting-point  we  may 
advance  to  all  manner  of  strange  situations  in  a 
world  that  is  rightly  called  our  own,  till  at  last 
we  lose  sight  of  the  original  play  and  even  of  the 
track  that  led  us  from  it. 


2031108 


vi  PREFACE 

In  most  cases  the  drama  of  life  is  also  divided 
into  acts,  and  only  when  the  drop-scene  has 
fallen  are  we  conscious  of  the  strangeness  and 
significance  of  each  division.  Then  we  can  turn 
round  and  applaud  or  criticise  or  suggest  the 
considerable  improvements  that  now  seem  ob- 
vious. By  memory  and  imagination  we  can 
gather  up  the  impression  and  purport  of  it  all  into 
one  scene  or  a  single  word.  Or  perhaps  some 
episode  of  apparent  unimportance  becomes  suf- 
fused with  a  strange  light  and  touched  by  a 
romance  of  happiness  or  sorrow  unobserved 
while  the  parts  were  being  played.  And  so  we 
dream  over  it  till  it  grows  into  other  shapes  and 
begins  to  take  on  itself  a  greater  truth  than 
reality,  until  in  the  midst  of  our  visions  a  little 
bell  rings,  the  footlights  are  turned  up,  the 
curtain  rises,  and  we  are  hurried  into  a  new  act 
unsanctified  by  time,  or  perhaps  into  the  act  of 
death.  For  the  "waits"  are  short. 

So  that  autobiography  is  necessarily  a  matter 
of  intervals,  and  I  think  the  great  writers  of  it 
are  often  at  their  best  when  they  forget  for  a 
moment  the  leading  part  they  themselves  have 


PREFACE  vii 

played  in  their  own  history,  and  tell  us  of  other 
characters  which  have  moved  upon  the  distant 
stage  and,  but  for  them,  would  have  been  for- 
gotten for  ever.  One  would  give,  for  instance, 
a  volume  or  two  of  introspection  and  self-analysis 
for  the  glimpse  that  Goethe  shows  us  of  a 
stuffy,  snuffy  old  gentleman  who,  seated  in  a 
smoky  garret  high  among  the  roofs  of  an  ancient 
German  town,  suddenly  at  the  end  of  a  long  and 
damaging  criticism  of  terrestrial  things  exclaimed, 
"I  detect  errors  in  God  as  well!"  In  the 
following  scenes,  then,  I  have  tried  to  represent 
only  certain  casual  episodes  and  situations  which 
I  have  observed  or  imagined  in  the  successive 
acts  of  a  life  to  which  fortune  has  granted  a 
share  of  variety.  The  first  two  chapters,  it  is 
true,  are  to  some  extent  personal  and  even 
historic,  but  they  deal  with  things  so  remote 
as  to  have  gathered  round  them  something  of 
the  unreality  and  holiness  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
and  I  have  given  them  the  essay  form  partly  in 
the  hope  of  avoiding  the  types  of  children  and 
schoolboys  ^which  sometimes  plague  us  in  fiction 
and  on  the  stage. 


viii  PREFACE 

The  pieces  of  verse  that  follow  the  scenes 
serve  in  some  cases  to  prolong  the  mood,  but  the 
connection  is  never  more  than  a  similarity  of 
mood,  and  sometimes  not  even  that. 

H.  W.   N. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  LONDON  MERCHANT          .  i 

SABRINA  FAIR       .                .  .  17 

A  DON'S  DAY       .                .  35 

Sic  Vos  NON  VOBIS             .  .  73 

GAUDEAMUS  IGITUR               .  .                      .  107 

IN  TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS     .  .  147 

CORPUS  CHRISTI   .                 .  .                      .  181 

THE  RELIEF  OF  EDEN           .  ...  193 

V;E  VICTIS            .            7  .  .  ,          .         .  233 

OF  YOUR  CHARITY               .  ...  243 

IZWA  !    .                .                .  ...  265 

A  LITTLE  HONEY.                .  .             .         .  285 

THE  LAST  RAG    .                .  .            »        .  325 

THE  PINNACLE  OF  FAME      .  .            .         .  345 


BETWEEN   THE   ACTS 


- 


. 

A   LONDON   MERCHANT 

TO  me,  looking  back  on  the  times  when  I 
used  to  come  up  from  the  country  as  a 
child  to  my  grandfather's  house  near  London, 
one  event  in  the  day's  routine  always  seems 
specially  distinctive.  It  was  as  essential  as  the 
peculiar  smell  of  the  old  house  itself — that  frag- 
rant mixture  of  flowers,  spices,  resin,  and  I  don't 
know  what  besides.  I  mean  the  event  of  family 
prayers,  so  different  from  our  rites  at  home,  and  so 
much  more  alarming.  For  with  us  the  head  of  the 
family  performed  the  worship  throughout,  but  at 
my  grandfather's  they  "read  round,"  so  that 
even  the  youngest  and  feeblest  was  compelled  to 
take  a  terrifying  share.  At  half-past  eight  the 


2  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

butler  clanged  a  great  brass  bell  where  it  might 
be  heard  through  bedrooms,  gardens,  and  fields, 
and  I  have  known  feminine  " grown-ups"  shed 
real  tears  when  they  were  late  for  that  bell's 
warning.  Into  the  long  dining-room  the  sons 
and  daughters  of  the  house  entered  by  one  door, 
and  when  they  were  ranged  on  chairs  around  the 
breakfast  china,  the  lower  door  opened,  admitting 
the  retainers  in  file  according  to  rank,  except 
that  the  housekeeper  came  first  and  the  butler 
last,  like  the  non-commissioned  officers  acting 
as  guides  to  a  company  on  parade.  All  took 
their  seats,  the  women  on  chairs,  the  men  on 
a  bench  covered  with  green  baize,  and  the 
ceremony  began. 

Let  us  imagine  it  a  morning  in  the  middle 
sixties.  For  though  my  grandfather  lived  to  a 
good  age,  perhaps  he  was  never  quite  at  his  best 
after  eighty-five.  In  appearance  he  had  a  notable 
look  of  Scott,  though  his  only  connection  with 
literature  was  a  large  sum  he  had  once  paid  a 
publisher  for  bringing  out  a  posthumous  work  by 
some  Evangelical  relation.  The  work  ran  to 
several  volumes,  I  think  twelve,  and  was  called 
Lives  of  Eminent  Christians.  The  tie  of  blood 
compelled  all  the  family  to  read  it,  but  to  us  it 


A    LONDON    MERCHANT  3 

was  even  more  dreary  than  The  Family  Sepulchre, 
a  series  of  death-bed  scenes,  which  was  one  of 
the  few  " Sunday  books"  we  were  allowed  to 
open  on  the  Lord's  Day.  In  all  literature  our 
family  standard  would  now  be  thought  rather 
rigid.  It  is  true  I  once  heard  my  grandfather 
recite  the  "  Meeting  of  the  Waters,"  after  the 
two  o'clock  dinner,  with  great  pleasure  and 
tenderness,  but  everyone  looked  at  the  dessert 
plates  as  though  wondering  what  was  coming 
next.  No  poem  of  Byron's  was  allowed  in  the 
house,  and  towards  the  poet  himself  he  felt  a 
regretful  detestation,  as  towards  a  lost  soul  from 
Britain's  aristocracy.  I  have  been  told  of  an  even 
sterner  and  more  practical  criticism  still.  Once 
when  my  aunts  were  young  (incredible  time  !)  he 
conducted  them  all — I  suppose  to  the  old  Pump 
Room,  or  to  the  Holly  Bush  Assembly  Hall  at 
Hampstead,  where  "  Conversaziones  "  were  held 
— to  hear  Joanna  Baillie  recite  one  of  her  "  Plays 
of  the  Passions."  I  do  not  know  which  passion 
was  the  drama's  theme,  but  the  very  title  ought  to 
have  been  warning  enough.  In  the  midst  of  the 
recitation  he  rose,  and  to  the  word  of  command, 
"  My  dears,  this  is  no  fit  place  for  you  !  "  he  led 
his  four  daughters  out  in  file  from  the  dubious 


4  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

haunt  of  culture  back  to  their  home's  security, 
leaving  the  astonished  poetess  to  express  what 
passions  she  pleased.  It  is  not  for  any  danger- 
ously passionate  tendencies  that  people  refrain 
from  reading  Joanna  Baillie  now. 

A  violent  Evangelical  by  conviction,  he  never- 
theless remained  an  unflinching  Tory  owing  to 
some  ancestor's  reputed  service  to  King  Charles. 
Next  to  the  Pope  of  Rome,  he  probably  hated 
Gladstone  most  of  human  things,  and  I  well 
remember  once  after  prayers  how,  springing  up 
from  his  knees  and  holding  the  Times  instead 
of  the  Bible  in  his  hand,  he  exclaimed  to  the 
assembled  household,  "The  Lords  have  saved 
England  again  !  The  Lords  have  saved  England 
again  !  I  always  knew  they  would."  Whereat 
everyone  was  much  gratified,  and  in  the  kitchen 
the  servants  all  said  with  pride  that  master  had 
been  right  as  usual.  As  an  emblem  of  his  politics 
and  position,  he  always  wore  a  tall  hat  even  in 
the  garden,  and  he  went  shooting  in  it  upon  the 
moors  of  his  native  Yorkshire.  For  he  was  a 
great  sportsman,  and  travelled  north  every  August 
with  his  setters  and  pointers,  well  content  if  he 
could  bag  a  few  brace  after  each  long  day's  toil- 
ing behind  the  dogs.  On  the  walls  of  the  dining- 


A    LONDON    MERCHANT  5 

room  hung  pictures  of  one  or  two  favourite 
horses,  still  kept  in  service,  though  long  past 
their  work.  And  side  by  side  with  the  horses 
were  comfortable  portraits  of  himself  and  my 
grandmother  in  middle-aged  prosperity.  In 
other  rooms  were  crayon  drawings  of  my  aunts, 
with  long  white  necks  like  gentle  swans,  and 
wavy  "  ringlets"  surrounding  the  innocently 
smiling  heads.  It  never  even  occurred  to  me 
that  my  aunts  once  really  looked  like  that.  To 
me  they  were  but  relics  of  the  dark  abysmal  ages 
before  I  was  born — beings  whose  natural  destiny 
it  was  to  discuss  the  various  ailments  of  myself 
and  my  cousins.  Yet  the  portraits  were  said  to 
be  their  "very  image,"  and  indeed  my  aunts 
were  younger  when  I  first  remember  them  than 
I  am  now.  They  would  still  sometimes  stand 
together  around  the  piano,  and  after  a  prolonged 
selection  of  a  keynote,  would  sing  "  Phyllis  is 
my  only  joy,"  or  "Tell  me,  shepherds,  have  you 
seen  my  Flora  pass  this  way?"  One  of  them 
could  sing  both  first  and  second.  But  then  my 
mother  used  to  tell  me  that  that  aunt  had  always 
been  the  clever  one. 

To  return  to  the  scene  of  worship  round  the 
breakfast  table.     If  a  clergyman  was  present,  he 


6  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

was  expected  to  occupy  the  green  leather  arm- 
chair at  the  top  of  the  assembly,  to  read  the  first 
verse,  and,  when  the  chapter  was  finished,  to 
supply  a  moral  commentary  out  of  his  own  head. 
Or,  if  the  eldest  son  was  staying  in  the  house, 
he  took  the  place  of  honour,  because  he  was  a 
Member  of  Parliament.  But  he  was  not  bound 
to  give  his  own  commentary,  and  in  the  ordinary 
way  my  grandfather,  being  only  a  layman  and 
a  merchant,  never  trusted  himself  beyond  the 
printed  limits  of  an  eighteenth-century  divine, 
who  must  have  written  something  commonplace 
upon  every  chapter  in  the  Bible.  For  we  read 
the  books  straight  through,  omitting  only  the 
genealogies,  the  Levitical  law,  the  indecent  pas- 
sages, and  the  Psalms  ;  and  that  commentary 
never  failed. 

When  my  grandfather  had  finished  his  verse, 
which  he  read  in  a  deep,  full  voice,  calling  to 
my  mind  the  Day  of  Judgment,  the  next  senior 
member  of  the  family  took  up  the  tale.  With 
a  little  calculation  I  could  fix  which  lines  would 
come  to  me,  and  spell  them  out  beforehand. 
I  have  no  doubt  now  that  others  did  the  same, 
but  at  the  time  I  never  supposed  that  anyone 
else  could  be  so  wicked.  If  the  worst  came  to 


A    LONDON    MERCHANT  7 

the  worst,  and  I  stuck  helplessly  at  a  word,  my 
grandfather  would  suddenly  throw    in    the    due 
correction,  making"  me  jump  with  shame,  though 
the  maids  used  to  tell  me  afterwards  I  was  a  very 
pretty  little  reader,  by  which  I  know  now  that 
they   meant    I    had    light,   wavy  hair.     My  turn 
safely  over,  I  could  settle  down  to  listen  to  the 
mistakes  of  others  with  the  relief  of  him  who  has 
swum  to  land.     As  a  rule  the  servants  came  next 
below  me,  the  interval  between  .two  tall  windows 
naturally  separating  them  from  the  family.     At 
their  head  sat  the  housekeeper — whether  maid  or 
widow  no  one  ever  asked,  but  of  human  things 
she  seemed  the  most  maidenly.     She  read  her 
verse  in  a  thin  and  fugitive  voice,  like  the  wind 
among  the  reeds.     A  delicate  curl  just  shook  at 
each  temple,  and  on  her  head  fluttered  the  super- 
sensual  essence  of  a  cap.     Her  home  was  the 
"storeroom,"  pleasantest  room  in  all  the  house, 
for  the  air  was  laden  with  the  smell  of  dried  fruits 
and  coffee  and  nutmegs,  and  one  could  climb  on 
the  top  of  the  cupboards.     There  she  would  read 
us  comfortable  tales  from  the  Sunday  at  Home — 
"The  Gospel  in  Caesar's  Household"  was  her 
best — but  to  herself  she  always  read  the  Marriage 
Service. 


8  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

Second  to  her  in  rank  came  Jane,  the  cook, 
the  "gentle  giantess"  of  the  estate.  She  had 
entered  the  family  as  a  child,  had  been  taught 
her  letters  by  the  " young  ladies,"  had  grown 
fat  on  happiness  and  faithful  work  through  an 
indefinite  age,  and  only  left  at  last  for  a  misery 
of  marriage.  Huge  as  she  was,  she  could  only 
send  the  tiniest  whisper  of  a  voice  across  the 
room,  and  it  was  generally  during  her  verse  that 
the  critical  moment  of  the  ceremony  came.  For 
the  old  coachman,  being  very  deaf  at  the  best, 
and  not  hearing  a  sound  of  any  kind  whilst  Jane 
was  reading,  always  thought  the  time  was  come 
for  him  to  begin.  So  far  he  had  been  following 
the  verses  with  his  enormous  finger  on  a  principle 
of  averages  which  never  worked  out  right.  But 
now  with  a  deep,  harsh  voice,  like  a  raven's  croak, 
he  would  break  in  upon  the  giantess's  gasping 
whisper,  and  repeat  some  Biblical  truth  which 
we  had  passed  a  stage  or  two  before.  On  one 
side  the  scullery-maid  would  tug  his  coat-sleeve, 
on  the  other  the  gardener  stamped  on  his 
toes  ;  but,  outside  the  stable,  all  the  old  man's 
senses  lay  very  deep  down  and  worked  but 
slowly,  so  that  he  had  generally  toiled  through 
two  or  three  lines  before  he  could  be  brought 


A    LONDON    MERCHANT  9 

to  stand.  We  all  looked  a  little  uneasy,  but 
from  first  to  last  I  never  saw  a  smile  on  any- 
one's face. 

The  "  maids"  were  naturally  a  more  variable 
class  than  the  older  retainers.  As  a  rule  there 
were  perhaps  five  or  six  of  them,  but  only  one 
remains  distinctly  in  my  mind.  For  it  so  hap- 
pened I  was  present  at  two  scenes  in  her  career. 
Soon  after  she  came,  my  grandfather  told  her, 
as  a  householder  should,  that  he  could  forgive 
breakages,  if  only  they  were  confessed.  For  a 
moment  she  stood  hesitating  on  the  edge  of  the 
Turkey  carpet,  and  then  all  in  one  breath  she 
gave  some  such  list  as  this:  "  Please,  sir,  I've 
broke  two  cups  and  five  saucers  and  a  bedroom 
jug  and  a  wine-bottle  and  a  big  pie-dish  and 
a  little  pie-dish."  Then  she  paused,  conscious 
of  rectitude,  but  with  apron  half  raised  in  depre- 
cation. When  she  was  gone,  my  grandfather 
only  said,  "That  seems  to  be  an  honest  girl." 
But  in  the  second  scene,  her  apron  covered  her 
face.  It  was  wet  in  semi-transparent  patches, 
and  things  were  said  which  I  did  not  under- 
stand. 

Among  the  elder  male  retinue  my  terror  was 
old  Forbes,  the  gardener,  who  sat  next  below  the 


10  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

deaf  coachman.  Into  this  world  of  misery  he  had 
come,  and  whilst  here  it  was  his  destiny  to  make 
it  blossom  like  the  rose.  That  destiny  he  ful- 
filled, but  no  trace  of  satisfaction  was  ever  seen 
upon  his  brown  and  crabbed  face.  On  the  lawns 
or  in  the  hothouses  he  laboured  from  morn  till 
eve,  always  with  the  same  rapt  look,  as  one 
occupied  with  the  burning  depths  of  eternity  that 
lurked  below  the  garden  beds.  Year  after  year 
he  wore  an  old  Scotch  cap  with  a  check  border 
and  no  tails.  That  was  his  standard,  his  battle- 
flag,  a  quite  unnecessary  emblem  of  his  superior 
nationality,  marking  him  out  as  one  of  the  elect 
in  a  heathen  land.  I  am  quite  sure  he  would 
have  shed  his  blood  for  any  of  the  family  with 
sour  but  unhesitating  self-sacrifice.  Otherwise 
he  seemed  to  despise  all  men  and  women  about 
equally,  reserving  a  special  detestation  for  us 
children.  Yet  perhaps  it  was  rather  with  in- 
difference than  contempt  that  he  regarded  grown 
mankind,  as  beings  whirling  to  their  own  place, 
and  in  their  brief  passage  conspiring  to  spoil  his 
gardens  by  their  carnal  appetites.  To  them  at 
times  he  may  have  extended  a  fellow-mortal's 
pity.  But  in  children  he  saw  nothing  except 
living  examples  of  original  sin.  Born  in  sin  and 


A    LONDON    MERCHANT  11 

children  of  wrath  we  undoubtedly  were,  and  our 
predestination  was  all  on  one  side.  In  us  he 
only  beheld  brands  meet  for  the  burning,  and 
even  when  I  was  set  to  help  him  by  weeding 
a  gravel  path  with  a  rusty  oyster-knife,  he 
neglected  that  corner  of  the  garden  for  a  week 
rather  than  look  at  me.  I  never  heard  him  speak 
to  any  of  the  other  retainers,  and  except  for  his 
verse  in  the  morning,  he  spent  whole  days  in 
absolute  silence.  Of  all  his  duties  the  hardest 
must  have  been  to  allot  and  label  the  various 
gooseberry  bushes  granted  every  spring  to  the 
" maids"  for  their  special  delight.  A  woman 
in  the  garden  reminded  him  of  the  first  sin,  but 
from  the  days  of  Paradise  certainly  no  better 
gardener,  however  much  thwarted  by  women, 
toiled  at  the  earth  under  which  he  was  to  lie. 
He  read  his  verse  with  harsh  emphasis,  like  the 
grating  of  unoiled  machinery.  Every  sentence 
of  the  Bible  was  to  him  a  word  from  the  Book  of 
Seven  Seals,  and  he  would  have  converted  the 
Songs  of  Solomon  itself  into  a  condemnation  of 
the  material  universe. 

Next  him  sat  Charlie,  the  carpenter,  who  com- 
manded the  long  woodshed  and  the  glories  of  the 
sawpit,  in  the  depths  of  which  it  was  easy  with  a 


12  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

few  rough  logs  to  build  old  Crusoe's  hut,  or  an 
Indian  wigwam,  or  such  a  fort  as  mutinous  sepoys 
never  could  have  stormed.  So  Charlie  was  my 
friend  and  hero,  till  one  evil  day  he  found  me  flat 
beside  the  pond,  fishing  out  newts  with  my  boot 
for  net.  It  was  part  of  his  labour  to  clean  the 
family  boots,  and  I  think  he  never  spoke  to  me 
again.  Long  afterwards  I  dimly  remember  hear- 
ing that  he  vanished  into  Canadian  forests  with 
his  brother  Jem — a  sterner  man,  who  controlled 
the  cows  and  other  bisons,  and  drove  them  up  to 
milk. 

Others  came — young  Sam,  the  coachman's  son, 
who  used  to  wash  the  tears  off  my  face  with  his 
handkerchief,  licking  it  first,  when  I  cut  my  finger 
in  weeding — and  others  again  whom  I  can  hardly 
recall,  except  in  fever. 

Last  came,  and  first  did  go,  the  model  butler, 
most  polite  and  alert  of  men,  always  unruffled, 
with  duty  always  fulfilled  before  the  mere  shadow 
of  command  had  risen  on  his  master's  face. 
His  eye  was  like  a  spaniel's,  ever  on  the  watch, 
and  for  all  the  world  he  had  a  smile  and  a 
kindly  word.  Nurses  and  housemaids  alike 
adored  him,  and  many  a  time  did  they  stand 
calling  the  higher  powers  to  witness  their 


A    LONDON    MERCHANT  13 

admiration  as  he  tossed  me  up  to  the  pantry 
ceiling.  I  do  not  forget  the  feeling  of  awe,  as  at 
the  opening  of  a  sudden  abyss,  when  I  heard  it 
whispered  one  morning  that  he  had  been  found 
drunk  upon  his  bedroom  floor,  dressed,  and  with 
the  lamp  still  burning.  So  ruin  came,  first  slowly, 
then  more  fast,  till  one  day  my  mother  sorrow- 
fully told  us  that  the  best  of  servants  had  died  in 
a  country  ditch. 

When  the  disjointed  reading  was  finished,  all 
books  were  shut,  and  the  commentary  was  listened 
to  with  minds  vacant  and  at  rest.  That  over,  we 
turned  round  to  kneel,  amid  a  feminine  rustle  of 
silk  from  my  aunts  and  stiff  cotton  from  the 
maids.  With  faces  pressed  to  the  backs  or  seats 
of  the  chairs,  we  waited  while  a  long  prayer  was 
read.  Then  all  broke  into  "Our  Father"  with  a 
mixture  of  basses  and  trebles,  that  I  was  once 
well  shaken  for  calling  "  the  general  roar." 
In  that  repetition  the  deaf  coachman  went  his 
own  pace,  and  was  generally  left  finishing  "for 
ever  and  ever "  after  the  blessing  had  been 
given.  We  rose,  and  there  was  a  pause  while 
the  servants  demurely  left  the  room.  It  was 
the  established  custom  for  one  of  the  elder 
members  then  to  make  a  leading  remark  so  as 


14  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

to  bridge  the  gulf  between  the  eternities  and 
the  breakfast-table.  If  the  Member  of  Parlia- 
ment was  there,  the  remark  was  expected  to 
be  political.  Otherwise  it  usually  turned  on  a 
missionary  meeting,  the  weather,  or  the  abomina- 
tions of  "the  Tractarians, "  who  in  my  mind  were 
intimately  connected  with  the  fires  of  Smithfield 
as  depicted  in  a  terrific  Book  of  Martyrs,  the  only 
really  interesting  volume  in  my  grandfather's 
library. 

It  is  a  scene,  as  I  said,  from  a  vanished  past. 
Except  a  few  middle-aged  children  now  scattered 
far  and  wide  through  the  world,  nearly  all  who 
witnessed  it  have  already  gone.  In  a  few  years 
the  Christian  feudalism  which  gave  it  character 
will  seem  as  remote  as  the  Crusades.  In  a  few 
years  no  one  will  remember  the  look  of  that 
furniture  or  the  sweet  and  separate  smell  of  each 
room.  The  house  itself  is  doomed.  The  prairies, 
the  desert  islands,  the  enchanted  caves  and  forests 
of  its  gardens  and  fields  are  now  to  be  divided 
into  plots  for  residential  villas  and  flats,  which 
not  even  a  child's  imagination  can  ever  fill  with 
cannibals  or  fairies  of  the  green.  And  that  is  why 
for  a  moment  I  recall  it  from  the  abyss  of  time, 
whilst  our  ship,  leaving  Teneriffe  upon  the  left, 


A    LONDON    MERCHANT  15 

is  plunging  ever  southward  through  the  hot  air 
towards  the  line,  and  before  us  unknown  con- 
stellations are  rising  over  Africa  ;  but  the  Bear 
has  not  yet  quite  vanished  in  our  wake. 

ss.  "  Scot,"  September,  1899. 


THE    PICTURESQUE 

THE  Abbey  Hall  is  fair  to  see, 

With  lawns  the  smoothest  ever  trod, 

And  many  a  quaint  exotic  tree 
Encompassing  the  house  of  God. 

A  few  old  arches,  open  still 

At  certain  hours  throughout  the  week, 
.Where  antiquaries  gaze  their  fill, 

And  amorous  pairs  play  hide  and  seek. 

At  luncheon  in  the  aisles  they  sit, 
The  painter  sets  his  painting-desk  ; 

No  place  in  all  the  shire  so  fit 
For  picnics  and  the  picturesque. 

O  home  of  God,  of  God  bereft — 
O  modern  virtue's  counterpart — 

Sleek  ruins  of  a  conscience,  left 
To  grace  the  pleasaunce  of  a  heart. 


16 


II 

SABRINA   FAIR 

"  High  the  vanes  of  Shrewsbury  gleam, 
Islanded  in  Severn  stream  ; 
The  bridges  from  the  steepled  crest 
Cross  the  water  east  and  west. 

"  The  flag  of  morn  in  conqueror's  state 
Enters  at  the  English  gate  ; 
The  vanquished  eve,  as  night  prevails, 
Bleeds  upon  the  road  to  Wales." 

A  Shropshire  Lad. 

IN  my  old  school  upon  the  Severn,  I  can  see 
now  that  we  were  not  educated  at  all ;  no 
scientific  methods  were  tried  upon  us.  I  doubt 
if  any  of  the  masters  had  even  heard  there  was 
such  a  thing  as  a  science  of  education.  To  them 
education  was  a  natural  process  which  all  decent 
people  went  through,  like  washing ;  and  their 
ideas  upon  it  were  as  unscientific  as  was  our 
method  of  "swilling,"  when  we  ran  down  naked 
from  the  bedrooms  to  sheds  in  the  backyards, 

C  17 


18  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

sluiced  cold  water  over  us  with  zinc  basins,  and 
then  came  dripping  back  to  dry  upstairs.  And 
yet  I  do  remember  one  young  mathematician 
whose  form  by  the  end  of  his  hour  was  always 
reduced  to  a  flushed  and  radiant  chaos  ;  and 
when  the  other  masters  complained,  he  replied 
that  this  was  part  of  his  " system."  So  I 
suppose  that  he  at  all  events  was  scientific,  and 
had  possibly  studied  Padagogik  in  Germany. 

The  others  were  content  to  teach  what  they 
had  learnt,  and  in  the  same  manner.  Most  of 
them  were  Shrewsbury  boys  themselves,  and 
because  Greek  had  been  taught  there  for  more 
than  three  centuries,  they  taught  Greek.  Of 
course,  we  had  Latin  too,  and  up  to  the  sixth 
form  our  time  was  equally  divided  between  the 
two  languages  ;  but  Latin,  as  being  easier  and 
rather  more  connected  with  modern  life,  never 
ranked  so  high,  and  we  turned  to  it  with  the 
relief  which  most  men  feel  when  the  ladies  rise 
from  the  dinner-table.  Latin  prose,  it  is  true, 
was  thought  more  of  than  Greek  prose,  and  no 
doubt  there  was  some  instinctive  reason  why.  I 
suspect  that  in  reality  it  is  the  more  difficult ;  for 
it  was  the  unconscious  rule  of  our  ancient  tradi- 
tion, that  of  two  subjects  the  more  difficult  was 


SABRINA    FAIR  19 

the  better  worth  learning,  provided  always  that 
both  were  entirely  useless. 

Of  Greek  our  knowledge  was  both  peculiar 
and  limited.  We  were  allowed  no  devices  to 
make  the  language  in  the  least  interesting,  no 
designs,  or  pictures,  or  explanations.  We  had 
no  idea  what  the  Greek  plays  looked  like  on  the 
stage,  or  why  Demosthenes  uttered  those  long- 
winded  sentences.  We  knew  nothing  of  the 
Dantesque  pride  underlying  the  tortured  prose 
of  Thucydides,  and  when  a  sixth-form  master 
told  us  that  the  stupendous  myth  at  the  end  of 
the  Phcedo  appeared  to  him  singularly  childish, 
we  took  no  notice  of  the  remark  one  way  or  the 
other.  We  only  knew  the  passage  was  easy,  just 
as  Homer  was  easy,  and  the  choruses  hard.  The 
greater  part  of  the  school  believed  that  Greek 
literature  was  written  as  a  graduated  series  of 
problems  for  Shrewsbury  boys  to  solve,  and  when 
a  sixth-form  boy  was  asked  by  a  new  master 
whether  he  did  not  consider  the  Prometheus 
a  very  beautiful  play,  he  replied  that  he  thought 
it  contained  too  many  weak  caesuras. 

So  there  was  nothing  in  the  least  artistic  about 
our  knowledge.  No  one  expected  to  find  either 
beauty  or  pleasure  in  what  we  read,  and  we  found 


20  BETWEEN   THE   ACTS 

none.  Nor  were  we  scientific  ;  we  neither  knew 
nor  cared  how  the  Greek  words  arose,  or  how  the 
aorists  grew,  and  why  there  were  two  of  them, 
like  Castor  and  Pollux.  After  all  these  things 
do  the  Germans  seek,  but  us  they  never  troubled. 
Our  sole  duty  was  to  convert,  with  absolute  pre- 
cision, so  much  Greek  into  so  much  English. 
No  possible  shade  of  meaning  or  delicate  inflec- 
tion on  the  page  was  allowed  to  slide  unnoticed. 
The  phases  of  every  mood  with  all  its  accom- 
panying satellites  were  traced  with  the  exactitude 
of  astronomy.  No  one  cared  much  about  beauty 
of  language  provided  the  definite  meaning  was 
secure.  Yet  beauty  sometimes  came  by  accident, 
just  as  happiness  comes,  and  I  first  learnt  what 
style  is  from  the  renderings  of  the  head-boy  when 
he  mounted  the  "rostrum."  He  was  himself  an 
antique  Roman  ;  his  eagle  nose,  wide  mouth,  and 
massive  chin,  the  low,  broad  brow,  with  black 
curls  growing  close  to  the  square-backed  head, 
were  made  to  rule  nations.  But  not  long  since 
he  died  in  the  serviceable  obscurity  of  a  master- 
ship, for  which  his  knowledge  of  Greek  was  his 
only  qualification.  It  is  true  he  was  our  captain 
of  football,  but  he  owed  that  position  to  his 
Greek  rather  than  his  play. 


SABRINA    FAIR  21 

When  as  a  new  boy  I  was  first  taken  for  a 
walk  out  of  bounds  on  a  Sunday  afternoon  by 
one  of  the  upper  sixth,  who  is  now  an  earthly 
saint,  we  went  to  a  hillside  with  a  long  blue 
vision  of  western  mountains,  and  while  I  had  no 
thought  or  eyes  for  anything  but  them,  he  con- 
tinued to  talk  quietly  of  Greek — the  significance 
of  various  forms,  the  most  telling  way  of  turning 
this  meaning  or  that,  especially,  I  remember,  the 
cunning  idioms  by  which  the  idea  of  "self" 
might  be  rendered  in  verse,  either  with  emphasis 
or  modesty.  So  it  was.  The  school  breathed 
Greek,  and  through  its  ancient  buildings  a  Greek 
wind  blew.  To  enter  head-room — a  dim,  panelled 
chamber  which  the  upper  sixth  used  as  a  study 
— was  to  become  a  scholar.  I  doubt  if  good 
Greek  verse  could  be  written  anywhere  else. 
Winged  iambics  fluttered  through  the  air  ;  they 
hung  like  bats  along  the  shelves,  and  the  dust 
fell  in  Greek  particles.  Now  the  school  is  moved 
to  the  further  side  of  the  river,  and  its  grey  and 
storied  stone  is  exchanged  for  cheerful  brick. 
Our  old  head-room  has  become  the  housekeeper's 
parlour  in  some  citizen's  dwelling,  but  on  the 
hearthstone  at  eventide  beside  her  petticoats 
squats  the  imperishable  Lar,  real  as  a  rat  though 


22  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

not  so  formidable,  and  murmurs  iambics  to  him- 
self. 

Other  subjects  besides  Greek  were  taught,  but 
no  one  ever  learnt  them.  There  was  French,  for 
instance,  taught  by  an  aged  Englishman  who  had 
outlived  three  generations  of  mortal  head-masters, 
and,  besides  his  wig,  was  supposed  gradually  to 
have  acquired  an  artificial  body  that  would  last 
for  ever.  To  us  he  was  important  because  he 
registered  the  punishments,  and  had  the  reputa- 
tion of  a  very  bloodhound  for  detecting  crime. 
Certainly  he  was  the  best  comic  reader  I  ever 
heard,  and  when  he  read  prayers  at  night  the 
whole  school  used  to  howl  like  a  rising  and  falling 
wind,  following  the  cadence  of  his  voice.  But 
nobody  learnt  French  of  him.  Once,  because  I 
had  shown  him  decent  politeness,  he  assigned  me 
a  prize.  I  could  honestly  say  I  knew  less  French 
than  anyone  this  side  the  Channel ;  and  yet  I 
should  never  have  outlived  a  certain  stigma 
attaching  to  my  imaginary  knowledge  of  any- 
thing so  paltry,  if  nature  had  not  given  me  the 
power  of  running  long  distances  without  fatigue. 
But,  unhappily  for  me,  to  prove  that  power  I  had 
to  wait  from  summer  till  autumn,  when  the  school 
huntsman  led  out  his  pack  in  white  to  scour  the 


SABRINA    FAIR  23 

wild  country  west  of  the  town — a  country  of 
yellow  woods  and  deep  pools,  where  water-fowl 
rose,  and  of  isolated  limestone  hills,  the  promise 
of  Wales.  Each  run  followed  a  course  fixed  by 
old  tradition.  Foxes  were  seldom  sent  out,  and 
were  never  supposed  to  be  caught.  We  ran  for 
the  sake  of  running,  just  as  we  learnt  Greek  for 
the  sake  of  learning  it. 

Mathematics  were  held  in  scarcely  less  con- 
tempt than  French.  We  had  two  wranglers  to 
teach  us,  but  they  never  taught  anyone.  Their 
appearance  in  form  was  hailed  with  indecent  joy. 
As  one  of  the  classical  masters  said,  it  was  like  the 
"  Cease  fire  "  on  a  field-day,  and  the  whole  body 
of  boys  abandoned  themselves  at  once  to  relaxa- 
tion. In  the  lower  forms  far-sailing  darts  were 
seen  floating  through  the  air  as  at  a  spiritualist 
seance  ;  in  the  upper  we  discussed  the  steeple- 
chase or  did  Greek  verses.  A  boy  who  really 
knew  any  mathematics  was  regarded  by  ourselves 
and  the  masters  as  a  kind  of  freak.  There  was 
no  dealing  with  him.  His  mathematical  marks 
got  him  into  forms  beyond  his  real  knowledge — 
his  knowledge  of  Greek.  He  upset  the  natural 
order  of  things.  He  was  a  perpetual  Ugly  Duck- 
ling, that  could  not  emit  iambics.  So  his  lot  was 


24  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

far  from  enviable,  and  happily  I  remember  only 
two  such  cases. 

In  the  sixth,  it  was  Saturday  mornings  which 
were  given  to  this  innocent  pursuit  of  mathematics, 
and  to  it  we  owed  our  happiest  hours  of  peace. 
To  go  up  School  Gardens  on  a  bright  summer 
day,  to  cross  the  leisurely  street  of  the  beautiful 
country-town,  to  buy  breakfast  (for  an  ancient 
tradition  kept  us  strenuously  underfed),  to  devour 
it  slowly  and  at  ease,  knowing  there  was  only 
mathematics  before  us  that  morning,  to  be 
followed  by  the  long  afternoon  and  Sunday — 
that  was  a  secure  and  unequalled  joy,  and  when- 
ever mathematics  are  mentioned,  I  still  feel  a 
throb  of  gratitude  for  those  old  pleasures.  Our 
one  lesson  on  Sunday  was  a  difficulty  to  the 
masters.  Of  course  there  was  the  Greek  Testa- 
ment to  fall  back  upon,  but  its  Greek  was  so  easy 
and  so  inferior  to  ours  that  it  became  a  positive 
danger.  We  were  sometimes  given  a  Latin  cate- 
chism, by  some  Protestant  Father  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  denouncing  Transubstantiation,  but  that 
also  we  had  to  read  with  caution  lest  it  should 
influence  our  Latin  prose.  Once  we  waded 
through  Dr.  Westcott's  Gospel  of  the  Resurrection, 
a  supposed  concession  to  those  of  us  who  were 


SABRINA    FAIR  25 

going  to  Oxford.  On  Sunday  evenings  we  learnt 
cantos  of  the  In  Memoriam  by  heart,  and  ex- 
plained them  next  morning  by  suggesting  how 
they  might  be  turned  into  Greek  or  Latin  lyrics. 
Then  the  real  labour  of  life  began  again  with 
Greek,  and  so  the  weeks  rolled  on  without  a 
change.  Once,  it  is  true,  our  greatest  master 
got  an  afternoon  hour  for  the  teaching  of  wisdom 
to  the  sixth,  and  we  really  tried  to  listen,  for  he 
stood  six  foot  four  and  had  been  captain  of  foot- 
ball at  Oxford.  But  it  was  no  good.  Wisdom 
was  far  too  easy  and  unimportant  for  us,  and  we 
let  her  voice  cry  in  vain.  Of  such  diversions 
as  physical  science  or  mechanics  we  never  even 
heard,  though  their  absence  was  perhaps  suffi- 
ciently compensated  for  by  the  system  of  fagging, 
under  which  all  the  lower  forms  learnt  the  arts  of 
lighting  fires  and  plain  cooking  for  the  upper 
sixth.  The  new  boys  were  also  practised  in 
public  oratory,  having  in  turn  to  proclaim  the 
athletic  announcements  for  the  day,  standing  on 
the  breakfast-table.  The  proclamation  began 
with  "O-Yes!"  three  times  repeated,  and  ended 
with  "  God  save  the  Queen,  and  down  with  the 
Radicals  !  "  Anyone  was  at  liberty  to  throw 
bread,  sugar,  or  boots  at  the  crier  during  his 


26  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

announcement ;  and  many  of  my  schoolfellows 
have  since  displayed  extraordinary  eloquence  on 
public  platforms  and  in  the  pulpit. 

In  politics  our  instruction  was  entirely  practical. 
For  centuries  the  school  had  been  divided  into 
bitterly  hostile  camps — day-boys  and  boarders — 
doing  the  same  work,  sitting  side  by  side  in  form, 
but  never  speaking  to  each  other,  or  walking 
together,  or  playing  the  same  games.  No  feud  of 
Whig  and  Tory,  or  Boer  and  Briton,  was  so 
implacable  as  ours.  u  Skytes  "  we  called  them, 
those  hated  day-boys,  for  whom  the  school  was 
founded — mere  Scythians,  uncouth  and  brutish 
things  that  sacrificed  the  flesh  of  men  and  drank 
from  a  human  skull.  Out  of  school  hours  we  did 
not  suffer  them  within  school  gates.  They  were 
excluded  even  from  the  ball-court,  except  for 
fights.  They  were  compelled  to  pay  for  separate 
football  and  cricket  fields  ;  and  in  football  they 
adopted  the  vulgar  rules  of  Association,  while  we 
aristocrats  of  tradition  continued  to  cherish  an 
almost  incomprehensible  game,  in  which,  as  in  a 
Homeric  battle,  the  leaders  did  the  fighting, 
while  the  indistinguishable  host  trampled  to  and 
fro  in  patient  pursuit  of  a  ball  which  they  rarely 
touched,  but  sometimes  saw.  The  breach  may 


SABRINA    FAIR  27 

have  begun  when  Elizabeth  was  Queen,  or  in  the 
days  of  Cavaliers  and  Roundheads,  and  there  is 
no  knowing  how  long  it  would  have  lasted  but 
for  the  wisdom  of  that  wise  master  already 
mentioned.  Whilst  I  was  still  there,  myself  a 
red-hot  boarder,  he  began  delicately  to  reason, 
amid  the  choking  indignation  of  both  sides,  whose 
rancour  increased  as  reason  shook  it.  No  re- 
former ever  set  himself  to  a  task  so  hopeless,  and 
yet  it  was  accomplished.  Within  a  year  we  were 
playing  football  under  Association  rules  together, 
and  before  the  old  school  was  removed,  the  wrath 
of  ages  was  appeased. 

For  the  rest,  I  cannot  say  that  the  ingenuous 
art  of  Greek,  though  we  learnt  it  faithfully, 
softened  our  manners  much,  or  forbade  us  to  be 
savages.  One  peculiar  custom  may  stand  for 
many  as  an  instance  of  the  primitive  barbarity 
which  stamps  upon  any  abnormal  member  of  a 
herd.  Since  the  last  Pancratium  was  fought  at 
Olympia,  no  such  dire  contest  has  been  seen 
among  men  as  our  old  steeplechase.  Clad  in  little 
but  gloves — a  little  which  grew  less  with  every 
hundred  yards — the  small  band  of  youths  tore  their 
way  through  bare  and  towering  hedges,  wallowed 
through  bogs,  plunged  into  streams  and  ponds, 


28  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

racing*  over  a  two  miles  of  country  that  no  horse 
would  have  looked  at.  The  start  was  at  the 
Flash  side  of  the  Severn,  and  if  I  had  cleared 
the  first  stream  and  the  hedge  beyond  it  with 
one  clean  bound,  as  my  young  brother  did,  I 
would  have  it  engraved  on  my  tombstone  :  "  He 
jumped  the  Flash  ditch.  R.I. P."  The  winner 
of  the  race  was,  of  course,  the  boy  who  came  in 
first;  but  the  hero  of  the  school  was  he  from 
whom  the  most  blood  was  trickling  at  the  finish, 
and  who  showed  the  bravest  gashes  on  his  face 
as  he  walked  down  the  choir  of  St.  Mary's  at 
next  morning's  service.  The  course  for  the  dis- 
play of  all  this  heroism  was  marked  by  the  new- 
boys,  whose  places  as  " sticks"  were  allotted  by 
the  huntsman  the  day  before,  the  whole  school 
accompanying  them,  and  by  immemorial  custom 
the  most  unpopular  new-boy  of  the  year  was 
always  set  at  the  last  post — a  slippery  stump  of 
ancient  tree  projecting  in  the  very  midst  of  a 
particularly  filthy  pond.  As  we  drew  nearer  and 
nearer  the  place,  all  of  us  advancing  at  a  gentle 
trot,  one  could  see  the  poor  creature  growing 
more  and  more  certain  that  he  was  the  boy.  We 
all  exchanged  smiles,  and  sometimes  his  name 
was  called  out,  for  all,  except  himself,  had  agreed 


SABRINA    FAIR  29 

who  it  would  probably  be.  At  last  the  pond  was 
reached,  and  we  stood  round  it  in  a  thick  and 
silent  circle,  awaiting  the  public  execution  of  a 
soul.  The  boy's  name  was  called.  He  came 
sullenly  forward,  and  made  a  wild  leap  for  the 
stump.  Invariably  he  fell  short,  or  slipped  and 
plunged  headlong  into  the  stagnant  water,  whilst 
we  all  yelled  with  satisfaction.  Wallowing 
through  the  black  slush  and  duckweed,  he  clam- 
bered on  to  the  tree  at  last,  and  stood  there  in 
the  public  gaze,  declared  the  most  hateful  boy  in 
all  the  school.  Upon  himself  the  ceremony  had 
not  always  the  elevating  effect  at  which,  I  sup- 
pose, we  aimed.  For  I  remember  one  disap- 
pointed moralist  in  the  fourth  form  remarking, 
"Frog's  pond  doesn't  seem  to  have  done  that 
fellow  any  good.  He  wants  kicking  again." 

It  is  all  gone  now — Frog's  pond,  the  steeple- 
chase, and  the  runners.  The  old  school  itself 
has  been  converted  into  a  museum,  and  in  the 
long,  raftered  room  where  we  learnt  Greek,  a 
crocodile  with  gaping  jaws,  stuffed  monkeys, 
and  some  bottled  snakes  teach  useful  knowledge 
to  all  who  come.  When  last  I  was  there,  they 
were  teaching  a  blue-nosed  boy  to  make  squeaks 
on  the  glass  with  his  wetted  ringer,  and  he  was 


30  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

getting  on  very  well.  But  from  my  old  seat 
(under  the  crocodile)  I  could  see  beyond  the 
Berwick  woods  the  wild  and  tossing  hills,  already 
touched  with  snow,  just  as  when  I  used  to  watch 
the  running  light  upon  them,  and  envy  the  lives 
folded  in  their  valleys.  Close  in  front  was  the 
bend  of  the  river  where  Bryan's  Ford  swings 
past  Blue  Rails,  just  as  it  ran  one  night,  still 
longer  ago,  when  Admiral  Benbow  as  a  little 
boy  launched  his  coracle  for  the  sea.  In  a  shin- 
ing horseshoe  the  river  sweeps  round  the  spires 
on  Shrewsbury  Hill.  The  red  castle  guards  the 
narrows,  and  east  and  west  the  Welsh  and  Eng- 
lish bridges  cross  the  water.  Below  the  English 
bridge  I  never  cared  to  discover  what  might 
come,  for  the  river  ran  down  towards  the  land  of 
dulness,  opposite  to  the  course  of  adventure  and 
the  sun.  But  to  follow  up  the  stream,  to  scrape 
across  her  shingly  fords,  to  watch  for  the  polished 
surface  of  her  shoals,  and  move  silently  over  the 
black  depths  where  no  line  had  reached  a  bottom 
— let  me  die,  as  Wordsworth  says,  if  the  very 
thought  of  it  does  not  always  fill  me  with  joy  ! 
Incalculable  from  hour  to  hour,  the  river  never 
loses  her  charm  and  variety.  In  a  single  night 
the  water  will  rise  twenty  feet,  and  pour  foaming 


SABRINA    FAIR  31 

through  the  deep  channel  it  has  been  cutting  for 
so  many  years.  Along  its  banks  of  sandstone 
and  loam  the  dotterels  run,  and  rats  and  stoats 
thread  the  labyrinth  of  the  flood-washed  roots. 
There  the  bullfinches  build,  kingfishers  dig  their 
"tunnelled  house,"  moorhens  set  their  shallow 
bowl  of  reeds,  and  sometimes  a  tern  flits  by  like 
a  large  white  swallow.  On  tongues  of  gravel, 
where  the  current  eddies  under  the  deep  opposite 
bank,  red  cattle  with  white  faces  used  to  come 
down  in  summer  and  stand  far  out  in  the  stream, 
ruminating  and  flicking  their  tails,  or  following 
us  with  wondering  eyes  as  we  ran  naked  over  the 
grass  and  fell  splashing  into  the  water.  Severn 
water  is  full  of  light  and  motion.  Never  stopping 
to  sulk,  it  has  no  dead  and  solid  surface,  but  is 
alive  right  through,  reflecting  the  sunshine,  green 
with  long  ribbons  of  weed,  orange  from  the 
pebbly  bed,  and  indigo  where  the  unbreaking 
crests  of  its  ripples  rise.  As  it  passes  beneath 
deep  meadows  and  under  the  solemn  elms,  it 
whispers  still  of  the  mountains  from  which  it 
came.  Into  the  midst  of  hedgerow  villages  and 
ordered  fields  it  brings  its  laughing  savagery, 
telling  of  another  life  than  theirs,  of  rocks  and 
sounding  falls  and  moorland  watersheds.  Other 


32  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

rivers  may  be  called  majestic,  and  we  talk  of 
Father  Tiber  or  Father  Thames,  but  no  one  ever 
called  the  Severn  father,  or  praised  her  but  for 
her  grace  ;  for  she  is  like  the  body  and  soul  of  a 
princess  straight  from  a  western  fairyland — so 
wild  and  pliant,  so  full  of  laughter  and  of  mys- 
tery, so  uncertain  in  her  gay  and  sorrowing 
moods.  On  my  word,  though  the  science  of 
education  must  be  a  very  splendid  thing,  un- 
taught, untrained,  uninstructed  as  we  Shrews- 
bury boys  would  now  be  considered,  I  would 
not  change  places  with  the  most  scientifically 
educated  man  in  England  who  had  never  known 
a  river  such  as  that. 


A    BALLADE    OF    PLACE 

THERE  was  a  time  I  thought  to  travel  far, 
Beyond  the  village,  through  the  garden  gate, 
Down  the  white  road,  across  the  harbour  bar, 
And  out  upon  the  ocean  desolate  : 
Oh,  what  a  weariness  it  was  to  wait 
Till  I  could  push  my  little  boat  from  shore, 
And  steer,  a  new  Columbus,  round  the  Nore, 
Or  follow  Drake  all  flaming  to  Cadiz ! 

But  now  I  dream  of  wandering  seas  no  more, 
There  is  no  place  but  where  my  lady  is. 


Tell  other  men  where  other  marvels  are, 
Where  rites  impenetrable  consecrate 
The  glittering  temple-domes  of  Candahar, 
Or  where  the  Pyramids,  confronting  fate, 
Watch  over  Egypt's  immemorial  state  ; 
Tell  them  of  jewelled  vaults  in  Travancore, 
And  bid  them  all  the  haunted  bays  explore 
Of  Asia,  slumbering  on  her  memories  ; 

For  me  who  find  what  I  have  sought  before, 
There  is  no  place  but  where  my  lady  is. 


3.5 


34  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

Let  down  the  mainsail,  loosen  every  spar, 
Drop  the  deep  anchor,  disembark  the  freight ; 
In  all  the  sailor's  heaven  one  only  star 
Lit  me  to  port  with  promise  passionate, 
And  all  the  log  records  one  only  date 
When  to  her  heart  the  ocean  currents  bore 
Me  toiling"  long"  at  random  with  the  oar. 
If  haply  I  might  reach  such  isle  as  this, 

Where  my  soul  lands  and  heaps  her  magic  store, 
There  is  no  place  but  where  my  lady  is. 

ENVOI. 

Queen,  to  thy  loveliness  in  love  I  pour 
All  love,  like  blood  upon  the  temple's  floor  ; 
In  mercy  to  thy  lover  grant  as  his 
Love's  only  station,  at  thy  bosom's  door  ; 
There  is  no  place  but  where  my  lady  is. 


Ill 

A   DON'S   DAY 


past  seven,  sir,"  said  the  scout 
in  a  warning  tone,  as  he  splashed  the 
water  into  the  shallow  bath  one  brilliant 
day  of  early  June.  "  Breakfast  in,  sir?  Yes, 
sir.  The  usual  fish  ?  " 

"  If  you  please,  Chandler,"  said  a  gentle  voice 
from  the  bed.  u  But  no,  stay  a  moment  !  Three 
of  the  junior  students  will  take  breakfast  with  me 
this  morning  at  a  quarter  to  nine." 

*  'Scholars'  breakfast  ?  Yes,  sir.  Kedjeree  and 
'ashed  chicking,"  muttered  old  Chandler,  who 
had  lived  by  robbing  so  many  generations  of 
undergraduates  that  he  had  won  a  reputation  for 
genial  and  fatherly  worth.  "Beer?"  he  went 
on  as  he  closed  the  door.  "  No  ;  no  beer.  Bad 
for  scholars  is  beer  —  very." 

With  a  deep  sigh,  the  sigh  of  a  man  returning 
from  oblivion  to  unhappiness,  Mr.  Bretherton 

35 


36  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

threw  off  the  light  bedclothes  and  got  up  at 
once. 

"I  shall  be  stronger  for  the  effort,"  he  said. 
For  many  years  past  he  had  said  the  same,  and 
so  it  was  that  during  term-time  he  had  never 
been  known  to  miss  a  morning  chapel.  That 
was  his  great  distinction,  and  it  was  thought 
that  the  College  had  given  him  his  fellowship  on 
that  account.  The  undergraduates,  at  all  events, 
could  discover  no  other  reason. 

The  splash  of  the  cold  water,  and  the  view 
from  his  window  of  the  golden  towers  of  Oxford 
standing  in  the  summer  air,  filled  him  with  a 
brief  exhilaration.  For  a  moment  he  felt  some- 
thing of  the  joy  he  had  known  fifteen  years 
before,  when  as  a  freshman  he  had  flung  his 
window  open  to  gaze  upon  that  unequalled  scene 
and  realise  that  he  was  in  Oxford  at  last.  But 
in  reaching  for  the  towel,  he  caught  sight  of 
himself  in  the  glass.  It  was  a  refined  and  even 
beautiful  face  —  pale,  clear-cut,  and  delicately 
marked  by  thought.  He  had  once,  after  pro- 
longed hesitation,  allowed  his  beard  to  grow, 
had  then  cut  it  off  in  term-time,  owing  to  some 
change  in  his  point  of  view ;  had  let  it  grow 
again  in  the  Long  Vacation,  and  after  three 


A    DON'S    DAY  37 

years  had  recently  shaved  once  more.  He  was 
now  as  clean  as  a  priest.  Ah  yes  !  as  a  priest. 
He  could  see  plainly  enough  how  excellently 
he  would  have  looked  that  part.  The  obvious 
fitness  of  his  appearance  was  indeed  one  of 
the  most  trying  temptations  to  his  intellectual 
honesty.  There  was  in  his  face  almost  sufficient 
austerity  for  sanctitude,  and  at  the  same  time  he 
had  the  priestly  smile — that  smile  which  says, 
"Look!  In  the  midst  of  my  unworldliness  I 
retain  my  sympathetic  charm  !  " 

For  that  smile  of  ingratiating  purity  his  fea- 
tures, with  the  subtle  lines  down  the  thin  cheeks, 
were  obviously  made.  The  tall,  slight  figure,  flat- 
chested,  but  fairly  active  still — the  thin  and  fault- 
less hands — all  were  sacerdotal.  He  knew  it  well. 
Each  morning  as  he  brushed  his  soft  and  semi- 
transparent  hair,  which  parted  down  the  middle 
as  straight  as  a  rubric,  he  saw  with  misery  that 
only  in  the  priesthood  could  a  nature  like  his 
reach  its  fulfilment,  and  yet — and  yet  there 
seemed  to  him  something  wanting  in  the  face. 
In  others  he  recognised  an  illuminated  look,  as 
though  in  them  a  lamp  of  inward  joy  were 
always  burning.  The  silver-tongued  Canon  had 
it ;  so  had  the  stupid  little  cricketer — the  latest 


38  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

of  his  own  pupils  to  be  ordained — ten  years 
younger  than  himself,  as  he  now  remembered 
with  a  pang  which  brought  down  the  brushes 
gently  upon  the  fair  white  doyley.  Was  it 
possible  that  in  the  priesthood  that  look  might 
come  also  to  him  ;  transfiguring  his  life  as 
well  as  his  face  ?  That  was  the  question,  only 
that  look  was  wanted,  for  every  other  quality 
seemed  there.  Why  else  did  his  freshmen 
pupils  so  frequently  make  the  mistake  of  ad- 
dressing him  as  "The  Reverend"  on  their 
letters  ? 

He  began  to  put  on  his  necktie,  and  it  re- 
minded him,  as  it  always  did,  of  a  scrap  of 
conversation  he  had  once  involuntarily  over- 
heard. 

"I  say,"  said  one  of  his  pupils  to  another, 
"  I'm  writing  to  the  Brether,  and  I  can't  make 
out  if  he's  a  parson  or  not !  " 

"No,  he  can't  well  be  a  parson,"  said  the 
other  ;  "  he  wears  a  larky  tie." 

The  poor  man  groaned  aloud  as  he  folded  the 
neat  sailor-knot  of  navy  blue  under  the  low, 
turned-down  collar  which  had  been  the  fashion 
when  he  was  an  undergraduate.  And  he  groaned 
with  real  physical  suffering  as  he  stretched  the 


A    DON'S    DAY  89 

thin  watch-chain  from  one  waistcoat  pocket  to 
the  other,  and  arranged  the  plain  gold  cross 
so  that  it  might  hang  exactly  in  the  middle,  per- 
vading his  whole  presence  with  its  memorial 
symbolism,  and  ever  recalling  to  his  mind  the 
" soldier  saints"  of  God,  the  Templar  Knights 
and  quiet  martyrs  who  for  it  had  flung  away 
their  lives  without  a  question.  He  himself  had 
given  ten  years  of  reading  and  thought  to  the 
decision  whether  he  could  take  Holy  Orders 
with  full  moral  and  intellectual  justification,  and 
after  ten  years  he  was  still  wearing  both  the 
" larky  tie"  and  the  cross  upon  his  waistcoat. 
The  sight  of  those  equally  balanced  ornaments, 
which  had  to  be  put  on  every  morning,  sent  a 
pang  through  him,  as  when  a  giant  dies. 

As  he  carefully  ordered  the  folds  of  his 
Master's  gown,  and  crossed  the  old  quadrangle 
with  its  crumbling  walls  and  brilliant  flower- 
boxes,  so  quiet  in  the  morning  sun,  and  greeted 
his  fellow  dons  at  the  cathedral  door,  and  passed 
up  the  long  aisle  between  the  rows  of  clean- 
faced  youths,  so  eager  with  life,  who  could 
have  divined  that  within  that  innocent  and 
conscientious  personality  was  hidden  a  soul 
suffering  tortures  compared  to  which  all  the 


40  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

devices  of  the  Inquisition,  all  the  cruelties  of 
ancient  Barbary,  would  have  been  welcomed  as 
a  relief? 

At  breakfast  the  three  scholars  duly  appeared, 
the  kedjeree  and  hashed  chicken  were  served, 
and  the  eights  discussed  as  usual.  Then  came 
one  of  those  terrible  pauses  which  Mr.  Bretherton 
was  always  dreading  at  his  own  table,  and  which 
always  came.  He  knew  that  his  pupils  dreaded 
them  too,  and  that  their  pitying  indifference  to 
himself  was  increased  by  their  frequency.  He 
struggled  piteously  to  find  something  to  say,  but 
what  could  it  be  ?  The  one  subject  for  which  he 
cared  was  never  mentioned  now,  for  there  was  a 
tacit  agreement  in  the  College  never  to  speak  to 
Mr.  Bretherton  about  the  Church.  So  it  was 
like  the  relief  of  a  siege  when  one  of  the  scholars 
suddenly  said,  "  I  suppose  you've  been  to  the 
agricultural  show,  sir?" 

A  vision  of  bloated  animals  and  garish  machines 
among  a  litter  of  sawdust  and  straw  made  the 
tutor  shiver  in  spite  of  himself.  Yet  the  question 
gave  him  an  opportunity  of  introducing  a  piece 
of  practical  knowledge  of  which  he  was  rather 
proud,  and  he  answered  rapidly,  "  No,  Mr. 
Poole,  I  fear  I  have  hitherto  neglected  that  duty. 


A    DON'S    DAY  41 

But  I  fully  recognise  the  encouragement  of  that 
display  as  a  duty,  and  I  am  sure  Professor  Green 
would  support  my  opinion.  To  take  a  concrete 
instance :  the  lower  classes,  as  you  know,  subsist 
almost  entirely  upon  bacon,  and  they  much 
prefer  that  bacon  which  is  called  streaky  on 
account  of  its  parallel  layers  of  fat  and  lean. 
Now  streaky  bacon,  as  it  is  called,  is  produced 
entirely  by  the  black  or  Berkshire  pig,  and  it  is 
therefore  of  the  highest  economic  importance  to 
encourage  the  multiplication  of  this  species,  and 
that,  I  am  given  to  understand,  is  among  the 
final  causes  of  the  Agricultural  Society  now 
holding  an  exhibition." 

He  could  himself  no  longer  remember  where 
he  had  obtained  this  information,  but  it  repre- 
sented his  hold  upon  the  realities  of  life,  and 
he  cherished  it.  The  Brether's  theory  of  the 
Berkshire  pig  was  a  tradition  in  the  College,  and 
as  he  thus  enunciated  it  anew,  the  scholars  did 
not  dare  to  look  at  each  other,  but  became 
deeply  engrossed  in  the  breakfast.  At  last,  to 
break  a  pause  which  was  growing  more  awkward 
than  ever,  one  of  them,  known  as  "  the  Gipper, " 
gasped  out — 

"  I  wonder  whether  that  distinction  would  hold 


42  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

for  black  men  and  white  men  as  well  as  for  white 
and  black  pigs?  " 

Both  the  other  scholars  laughed  outright,  and 
to  save  the  situation  one  of  them  suggested — 

"  Perhaps  our  Mission  to  West  Africa  will  find 
that  out !  " 

But  the  remark  was  unfortunate,  and  Mr. 
Bretherton  flushed  painfully.  He  did  not  under- 
stand the  real  cause  of  the  merriment,  and  he 
felt  very  keenly  the  irreverence  towards  the  new 
mission,  just  founded  by  a  heroic  brotherhood  of 
Anglicans  from  the  College. 

"  Surely,  surely,"  he  began  in  expostulation, 
and  then  he  stopped  abruptly,  for  worse  even 
than  irreverence  he  hated  to  be  thought  donnish. 

11  I'm  afraid  I  must  be  off,  sir,"  said  the 
Gipper,  springing  up.  "I'm  in  for  Ruds  in  half 
an  hour,  and  I  want  to  run  through  the  Kings 
and  Parables." 

The  party  rose,  and  with  an  offer  of  cigarettes 
to  show  his  wide  humanity,  Mr.  Bretherton  dis- 
missed them,  saying  he  supposed  it  was  nearly 
time  for  lectures. 

When  he  was  alone,  he  stood  looking  with 
vacant  eyes  at  the  brilliant  green  of  the  lime  trees 
that  hung  over  the  wall  of  the  Deanery  garden. 


A    DON'S    DAY  43 

"  Ruds  !  "  Instinctively  he  knew  that  the  pass 
examination  in  the  "  Rudiments  of  Faith  and 
Religion  "  was  meant.  In  his  day  (not  so  very 
long  ago  after  all)  it  was  called  "  Divinity,"  and 
he  well  remembered  the  spirit  in  which  he  went 
in  for  that  examination  himself.  Most  of  the 
scholars  had  treated  it  as  a  pleasant  relaxation 
from  the  serious  work  of  reading  for  "  Greats." 
They  gave  three  days  to  coaching  up  the  Biblical 
history,  repeating  the  shorter  Articles  to  each 
other,  and  getting  the  miracles  and  parables  off 
by  heart  with  the  help  of  indecent  rhymes.  His 
own  method  had  been  very  different.  For  weeks 
before,  he  had  carefully  studied  the  Jewish 
history  and  the  Greek  Testament.  He  had 
attempted  to  arrive  at  the  meaning  and  origin  of 
the  Articles  in  the  light  of  history  and  the  Reform- 
ation. When  the  day  came  he  had  entered  the 
old  "  Schools"  with  a  purifying  sense  of  conse- 
cration, and  had  written  his  answers  as  carefully 
as  a  monk  copying  a  missal.  As  a  result  the 
examiner  who  hustled  him  through  his  "Viva" 
had  told  him  there  was  enough  on  his  papers  to 
secure  his  "Testamur,"  and  when  shortly  after- 
wards he  went  in  for  "Greats"  and  only  got  a 
second,  his  failure  was  charitably  put  down  by 


44  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

his  tutor  to  the  time  he  had  wasted  over  Divinity. 
And  now  it  was  "  Ruds  "  ! 

Profoundly  depressed,  he  turned  to  put  on  his 
gown  again,  for  the  undergrads  were  beginning 
to  arrive  for  his  ten  o'clock  lecture,  and  it  was 
some  relief  when  they  were  all  settled  round  the 
long  table  with  their  notebooks.  He  was  dis- 
coursing on  the  Odyssey  and  the  laws  of  art  to 
be  deduced  from  it.  The  lecture  was  old — all 
his  lectures  were  old,  for  he  had  long  been  too 
much  occupied  with  one  absorbing  question 
to  compose  anything  fresh.  But  of  this  particu- 
lar lecture  he  had  always  felt  rather  proud.  It 
was  based  on  Donaldson  and  other  learned 
works  ;  in  one  place  he  even  quoted  a  German 
authority  in  the  original,  and  one  piece  of 
criticism  he  believed  to  be  entirely  his  own. 
It  was  on  the  very  first  line  of  the  Odyssey,  and 
when  he  came  up  to  it  he  read  part  of  that 
familiar  line  first  : 

' A.v8pd  /not  evveire  Moucra  TroXvTpoTrov. 

"Now  what,"  he  asked,  "  do  you  observe 
about  the  form  of  that  opening  invocation  ?  " 

As  usual  his  pupils  made  no  suggestion,  but 
looked  out  of  the  window  or  examined  the  photo- 


A    DON'S    DAY  45 

graphs  of  Holman  Hunt  and  Fra  Angelico  round 
the  walls. 

"  Surely,  surely,"  he  went  on,  in  answer  to 
himself,  "  you  cannot  fail  to  observe  the  very 
prominent  position  of  the  word  'AvSpd.  And  from 
that  we  might  surely  learn,  might  we  not  ?  that 
the  subsequent  poem  is  all  about  a  man  ?  " 

He  was  pleased  to  see  that  some  of  his  hearers 
took  the  remark  down,  though  none  were  very 
deeply  impressed.  But  suddenly  one  of  the  most 
attentive  looked  up  and  said,  "  But  don't  you 
find,  sir,  that  the  women  and  girls  are  the  most 
interesting  parts  of  the  Odyssey  ?  " 

The  others  just  glanced  at  each  other,  and 
tried  hard  not  to  laugh,  but  the  questioner's  face 
was  perfectly  guileless,  and  in  support  of  his 
point  he  hastily  named  the  beautiful  episodes  : 
Helen,  with  her  silver  basket  and  violet  wools  ; 
the  nymph,  Calypso  ;  Circe,  the  witch  ;  Penel- 
ope herself ;  and  Nausicaa,  with  her  washing 
and  game  of  catch. 

Mr.  Bretherton  was  confused.  As  it  was  his 
own  piece  of  criticism,  he  had  no  authority  to 
fall  back  upon.  Besides,  he  had  never  con- 
sidered women  one  way  or  other  ;  they  did  not 
enter  into  his  problem,  but  the  air  of  stifled 


46  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

amusement  among  the  audience  suddenly  woke 
in  him  the  knowledge  that  their  thoughts  were 
on  the  verge — the  very  verge  of  vulgarity.  On 
the  other  hand  he  saw  that  in  some  sense  the 
young  scholar  was  right,  and  at  once  he  felt  his 
own  mind  beginning  to  totter  round  the  circle 
of  hesitation.  After  a  tormenting  pause,  he 
murmured  a  shuffling  concession,  and  concluded 
the  lecture  without  even  the  ghost  of  spirit  which 
haunted  it  before. 

In  the  second  hour  he  fared  no  better.  He 
was  lecturing  on  Greek  syntax,  and  had  reached 
the  various  uses  of  ov  M  and  M  ov,  with  the 
different  moods  required  according  to  the  con- 
struction and  shade  of  meaning.  It  was  a  sub- 
ject on  which  he  could  trust  himself  to  speak 
without  a  thought  of  doubt  or  reservation,  and 
the  security  gave  him  courage.  But  that  morn- 
ing nothing  would  go  right.  While  the  other 
students  were  piously  taking  down  his  rules  and 
instances  (chiefly  derived  from  Dean  Farrar's 
book)  he  noticed  the  pen  of  one  of  them  moving 
rather  strangely,  and  against  his  will  he  caught 
sight  of  a  picture  of  two  enormous  cats,  hastily 
limned  on  the  paper  with  bristling  splashes  of  ink. 
With  backs  arched  and  white  eyes  flashing,  they 


A    DON'S    DAY  47 

stood  on  opposite  chimney-pots,  with  a  gulf 
between.  One  chimney  was  labelled  "  optative 
mood,"  the  other  "  conjunctive  mood,"  and  from 
the  mouth  of  one  cat  issued  the  syllables  "  ov  w  "  ; 
from  the  other  came  the  deprecating  cry  "  M  ov." 
Across  the  bottom  the  undergrad  was  just  in- 
scribing the  words  "  Memoria  Technica,"  but 
feeling  himself  watched  he  pushed  the  drawing 
gently  under  his  neighbour's  notebook,  and  went 
on  writing  for  dear  life.  Mr.  Bretherton  paused, 
flushed,  and  said  nothing.  He  could  not  decide 
whether  it  was  the  coarseness  of  the  idea  or  the 
slight  to  himself  which  made  him  suffer  the 
more.  Besides,  the  idea  of  discipline  was  singu- 
larly abhorrent  to  him,  and  it  was  one  of  his 
terrors  to  be  thought  a  schoolmaster.  In  reproof, 
too,  there  always  lurked  the  possibility  that  he 
might  be  wrong  himself. 

Between  twelve  and  one,  a  scholar  came  with 
a  wooden  translation  of  Thucydides,  and  a  pass- 
man with  an  Ode  of  Horace.  That  hour's  work 
always  reminded  Mr.  Bretherton  of  the  earlier 
days  when  he  had  encouraged  his  pupils  to  bring 
him  weekly  essays  in  philosophy,  and  had  thus 
incurred  the  surprised  displeasure  of  the  other 
dons,  who  were  alarmed  lest  the  habit  should 


48  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

become  general,  as  it  was  at  Balliol.  They  need 
not  have  feared.  After  a  six  weeks'  struggle, 
finding  it  impossible  to  answer  his  pupils'  ques- 
tions with  certainty,  Mr.  Bretherton  had  quietly 
given  it  up  and  let  things  slide  like  the  rest. 

One  point  of  difference  alone  he  retained,  and 
perhaps  it  was  that  which  won  him  the  standing 
epithet  of  " conscientious."  Every  term  he  took 
each  of  his  pupils  one  dull  walk.  During  the 
walk  it  would  be  hard  to  say  whether  he  or  the 
pupil  suffered  the  greater  torment,  and  he  him- 
self could  never  quite  decide  that  question, 
though  he  often  dwelt  upon  it.  Among  the 
undergrads  a  "  Brether's  grind"  was  a  proverb 
of  horror,  and  a  mathematical  scholar  had 
worked  out  the  average  cost  of  every  word 
spoken  in  terms  of  the  tutorial  fees. 

Looking  at  his  hanging  diary,  in  which  these 
walks  and  the  saints'  days  were  the  only  entries, 
Mr.  Bretherton  found  that  for  that  afternoon 
he  had  invited  the  very  scholar  who  had  talked 
about  the  agricultural  show  and  going  in  for 
"Ruds."  Chilled  by  the  dreariness  of  uninspired 
duty,  he  was  sinking  into  the  cushioned  window- 
seat,  when  his  scout's  boy  came  in  with  a  note. 
It  was  to  say  the  scholar  very  much  regretted 


A    DON'S    DAY  49 

he  could  not  come  that  afternoon,  as  he  had  a 
very  important  engagement  with  his  people. 

"  Lunch  in,  sir?"  asked  the  boy. 

"  If  you  please,  William." 

"Usual  commons,  sir?" 

"If  you  please,  William,"  and  the  boy  set  off, 
whistling,  to  the  buttery. 

With  a  slackening  of  mind  very  like  pleasure, 
Mr.  Bretherton  realised  that  if  he  decided  to 
go  out  that  afternoon,  he  would  at  all  events  be 
alone.  But  he  was  inclined  not  to  go  out ;  he 
would  stay  and  read  till  chapel,  and  then  he 
would  be  better  fitted  to  consider  his  own  posi- 
tion in  the  evening.  When  lunch  was  over,  how- 
ever, the  sound  of  the  men  passing  under  his 
window  to  -cricket  or  the  eights  made  him  rest- 
less, and  he  determined  to  take  Seeley's  Natiiral 
Religion  and  read  it  in  the  fields.  But  before 
he  reached  Canterbury  Gate  he  began  to  doubt 
whether  he  was  in  a  fit  mood  to  face  that  over- 
whelming conception  of  nature,  unconscious, 
unanswering,  unfathomable,  so  he  turned  back, 
and,  taking  up  Lux  Mundi  instead,  he  started 
in  an  opposite  direction,  and  passing  through 
"Tom,"  found  himself  wandering  over  "Jacob's 
Ladder  "  to  the  Hinckseys. 


50  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

When  he  reached  the  foot  of  the  Happy  Valley, 
he  sat  down  under  a  tree  hidden  from  the  path 
and  began  to  read.  Some  farm  people  were 
making  hay  through  the  hedge  behind  him,  and 
the  sound  of  their  rakes  in  the  newly  mown  grass 
mingled  soothingly  with  their  voices.  In  front 
lay  the  city,  orange  in  the  broad  sunshine.  She 
needed  not  June,  but  June  was  over  her  now. 
Yet  when  he  looked  up  from  the  book  his  eyes 
saw  nothing  but  the  horror  of  that  choice  which 
stood  before  him  almost  as  a  visible  shape,  like 
an  equally  poised  balance  on  the  point  of  a 
sword.  The  happy-seeming  fields,  the  elms 
heavy  with  summer,  the  quiet  water  moving 
under  the  willows,  only  added  to  his  misery. 
He  turned  to  read  again,  and  for  a  moment  the 
balance  did  seem  definitely  to  swing  one  way. 
Could  it  be  the  joy  of  assurance  that  he  felt  ? 
He  reflected,  and  in  his  heart  he  knew  at  once 
that  if  he  had  brought  the  other  book,  the  other 
scale  would  have  gone  down.  Then  he  looked 
up  again,  and  with  a  sharp  physical  pang  per- 
ceived that  the  balance  stood  before  his  eyes  as 
usual,  with  arms  equally  poised. 

Just  then  the  voices  through  the  hedge  came 
nearer,  and  he  listened  to  them  unconsciously, 


A    DON'S    DAY  51 

till  to  his  surprise  he  heard  half-jestingly  recited, 
the  familiar  words  : — 

"  Here,  where  the  world  is  quiet, 

Here,  where  all  trouble  seems 
Dead  winds'  and  spent  waves'  riot, 

In  doubtful  dreams  of  dreams  ; 
I  watched  the  green  field  growing-, 

For  reaping  folk  and  sowing, 
For  harvest-time  and  mowing, 

A  sleepy  world  of  streams." 

"Whatever's  all  that  you're  saying,  Mr. 
Scholard  ?  "  said  the  bright  voice  of  a  girl. 

Still  laughing,  but  speaking  with  hurried  eager- 
ness, the  man  recited  those  other  lines : — 

"  To  lull  you  till  one  stilled  you, 
To  kiss  you  till  one  killed  you, 
To  feed  you  till  one  filled  you, 
Sweet  lips,  if  love  could  fill." 

"O,  Lord,  Mr.  Scholard!"  said  the  girl, 
"what  things  you  do  say!  " 

Through  the  hedge  Mr.  Bretherton  could  see 
two  figures  leaning  on  their  rakes  side  by  side  in 
the  hay.  The  girl  had  just  stopped  her  work, 
and  was  holding  up  her  hand  for  a  thorn  or 
splinter  to  be  pulled  out.  As  she  looked  up  with 
smiling  and  trustful  affection,  her  face  was  rosier 


52  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

than  her  pink  sun-bonnet.  Her  bare  arms,  brown 
and  red  with  the  sun,  a  few  early  poppies  hang- 
ing from  the  opening  of  her  bodice— all  of  her 
seemed  to  burn  with  life.  Over  her  hand  the 
man  was  stooping  tenderly.  He  had  knotted 
the  girl's  crimson  scarf  round  his  head,  but  he 
wore  the  dark  blue  blazer  and  embroidered 
cardinal's  hat  of  Christ  Church,  and  his  strong 
and  hairy  legs  could  be  seen  below  the  rolled-up 
flannels.  Mr.  Bretherton  knew  at  a  glance  that 
it  was  "the  Gipper,"  the  very  scholar  who  had 
refused  his  invitation  to  a  walk  owing  to  a  most 
important  family  engagement.  He  had  lately 
heard  that  the  nickname  of  "the  Gipper,"  an 
affectionate  contraction  for  "  Scholar  Gipsy,"  had 
been  given,  because  summer  and  winter  the  man 
was  out  every  day  with  the  shepherds  and  plough- 
men in  the  fields,  and  used  to  greet  the  country- 
people  by  name  as  they  drove  into  the  city  market 
while  he  was  going  to  lecture,  and  this  thing 
that  he  saw — this  incredible  situation — a  Junior 
Student  of  the  House,  sure  of  his  Firsts,  associ- 
ating with  a  farm-girl — this  was  the  result,  or 
perhaps  the  object  of  all  that  eccentricity  ! 

What  was  to  be  done  now?     Visions  of  Deans 
and  Censors  and  even  of  Senior  Proctors  passed 


A    DON'S    DAY  53 

rapidly  through  Mr.  Bretherton's  mind.  Then, 
to  avoid  scandal,  he  thought  he  would  himself 
talk  seriously  to  the  man  that  evening  after  all, 
and  perhaps  induce  him  to  join  in  prayer.  But 
the  thorn  was  taken  out  now,  and  as  "the 
Gipper  "  wiped  away  the  tiny  speck  of  blood  with 
his  handkerchief,  the  girl  smilingly  put  up  her 
rosy  face.  Mr.  Bretherton  turned  away  and  hid 
his  head  between  his  knees.  Then  he  heard  two 
rakes  fall  to  the  ground,  one  after  the  other. 

When  the  sound  of  tossing  the  hay  began 
again,  he  rose  and  climbed  the  stile  into  the 
field,  resolved  to  look  neither  to  the  right  nor 
left,  but  to  allow  his  mere  presence  to  act  as 
a  warning  and  reproof.  He  passed  so  close  that 
he  was  sure  his  device  must  be  obvious — so  close 
that  as  he  walked  slowly  along,  he  heard  the  girl 
whisper,  " Who's  that  funny  old  gaffer?"  And 
he  heard  the  Gipper's  warning  "  Hush  !  " 

By  what  road  he  reached  the  shelter  of  his  own 
rooms  he  could  not  have  told,  but  once  there,  he 
sank  into  his  deep  easy-chair,  and  remained  with 
closed  eyes  and  quivering  nerves  till  the  scout's 
boy  brought  him  his  afternoon  tea.  Then  the 
quiet  sound  of  the  cathedral  bell  began,  and  it 
carried  with  it  some  sense  of  comfort.  The 


54  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

service  seldom  failed  to  soothe  him  with  its  mere 
routine,  the  knowledge  that  no  choice  was  needed 
and  no  change  possible.  It  was  so  refreshing  to 
kneel  without  question,  to  stand  up  without 
question,  and  to  turn  to  the  east  without  hesitat- 
ing whether  to  turn  to  the  west.  He  submitted 
himself  to  the  unvarying  ritual  like  a  hospital 
patient  who  has  to  be  washed  and  fed  and  given 
his  medicine  in  definite  routine,  and  so  is  saved 
the  anguish  of  decision.  But  that  afternoon,  as 
he  passed  to  his  seat  in  the  stalls  across  the 
marble  mosaic  of  Fortitude  with  her  sword  and 
lion,  he  noticed  for  the  first  time  that  his  feet 
seemed  to  shuffle  and  scrape  upon  the  pavement. 
Close  behind  him  he  heard  the  clatter  of  old 
Wilson's  boots — old  Wilson  who  had  resigned 
his  Orders  years  ago  because  he  could  believe  in 
no  future  life  but  eternal  damnation,  and  had 
been  so  poor  ever  since  that  he  wore  hobnails  in 
his  soles,  to  the  horror  of  the  vergers.  But  old 
Wilson  at  all  events  walked  with  a  good  clean 
stamp,  though  he  was  much  older  than  Mr. 
Bretherton — nearly  forty  years  older  than  the 
man  who  had  just  been  called  a  funny  old  gaffer. 
So  to-day  the  familiar  service  passed  over  Mr. 
Bretherton  almost  unnoticed,  and  he  hardly  heard 


A    DON'S    DAY  55 

the  boys'  clear  voices  chanting  so  glibly  the 
Psalmist's  uncertain  moods  of  hope  and  de- 
spondency. Not  even  the  cheerful  old  organist 
plunging  at  random  up  and  down  the  keys  and 
stops  could  penetrate  his  gloom,  or  draw  him 
from  the  abyss  of  his  introspection. 

At  the  cathedral  door  an  undergraduate  came 
up  timidly  and  asked  him  if  he  would  not  come 
that  evening  to  a  meeting  of  the  West  African 
Mission — the  same  which  had  been  mentioned  at 
the  morning's  breakfast,  and  was  better  known 
among  the  undergraduates  as  the  Crocodile's 
Comfort. 

"  I  almost  think  I  should  like  to  come,  unless, 
indeed,  I  am  too  much  occupied,"  said  Mr. 
Bretherton,  who  was  always  deeply  touched  if 
an  undergraduate  took  any  notice  of  him. 

But  before  he  reached  "Peck,"  a  sharp  inter- 
nal pain  warned  him  that  he  had  unconsciously 
begun  to  hesitate.  He  was  in  doubt  whether  he 
ought  to  go  to  that  meeting  or  not.  It  would 
break  in  upon  the  two  hours  which  he  habitually 
gave  up  to  spiritual  meditation  in  the  evening, 
and  the  time  which  he  gave  to  himself  was  so 
short  and  broken  already.  During  term  the 
work  with  which  he  loaded  himself  was  chiefly 


56  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

irrelevant  to  the  great  question.  Even  during 
vacation  he  took  a  reading-party  to  the  Lakes, 
and  made  a  point  of  looking  at  Italian  pictures 
abroad  so  as  not  to  be  reduced  to  absolute  silence 
in  the  company  of  the  other  dons  or  of  a  Canon's 
wife  and  the  few  other  ladies  whom  he  met  on 
rare  occasions.  Yet  he  recognised  how  much  his 
time  was  frittered  away  by  duties  such  as  these, 
and  he  looked  with  wistful  envy  at  the  more 
resolute  of  his  fellows,  who,  except  for  a  few 
months  of  European  travel,  kept  themselves  free 
from  all  the  petty  bonds  and  ties  of  daily  occupa- 
tion, and  so  were  enabled  to  devote  almost  their 
entire  existence  uninterruptedly  to  the  pursuit  of 
truth  alone. 

When  he  reached  his  rooms,  the  trammels  in 
which  fate  and  conscientiousness  held  him  bound 
seemed  embodied  in  the  presence  of  two  under- 
graduates, who  had  brought  him  their  innocent 
burlesques  of  Latin  prose.  They  were  sporting 
men,  who  wore  spats,  contemplated  him  loftily 
through  single  eyeglasses,  and  sat  his  chairs 
like  horses.  Their  answers  to  his  comments  ran 
like  this — 

"Oh  yes,  passive,  certainly;  I  meant  to  put 
passive,  didn't  you,  Finlayson  ?  I  remember 


A    DON'S    DAY  57 

telling  you,  feminine  mood,  perfect  tense.  Laudo, 
first  conjugation,  is  it  ?  Why  didn't  you  tell  me 
that,  Stewart?  I'd  have  got  it  right.  I  know 
the  first  conjugation.  Oh,  that's  oratio  obliqua  ! 
I  know  ;  it's  when  one  fellah  tells  another  fellah 
what  the  other  fellah  said.  Accusative  and 
infinitive,  certainly.  Rather  a  neat  dodge  of 
doing  it,  don't  you  think  ?  Here,  Stewart,  I 
say,  rein  up  a  minute  till  I  cock  in  an  infinitive 
of  sorts  !  " 

When  at  last  they  went  back  across  the  quad, 
shouting  "Yoicks"  and  "Gone  away"  and  other 
incitements  to  the  chase,  it  was  time  to  dress  for 
Hall. 

One  of  the  most  grievous  trials  of  Mr. 
Bretherton's  day  was  the  question  whether  it  was 
better  to  go  to  Hall  early  or  late.  If  he  went 
early,  all  the  scouts  and  kitchen-boys  could  stare 
at  him  as  he  passed  up  to  the  high  table,  and 
when  he  reached  it  he  felt  very  conspicuous 
waiting  for  the  other  dons,  and  he  was  afraid  the 
undergraduates  would  think  he  came  early  be- 
cause he  had  nothing  better  to  do.  But  if  he 
went  late,  all  the  tables  could  look  at  him,  and 
the  high  table  itself  seemed  to  rake  his  approach 
with  a  broadside  of  eyes.  Besides,  most  of  the 


58  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

places  were  taken  by  then,  and  he  could  not  give 
those  who  disliked  him  a  chance  of  avoiding  the 
next  seat  to  his.  What  he  liked  best  was  to  meet 
Canon  Liddon  or  Canon  Hollings  at  the  foot  of 
the  staircase,  and  so  sail  up  Hall  under  shelter, 
illuminated  indeed  by  a  kind  of  reflected  glory,  for 
it  was  pleasant  to  be  seen  on  intimate  terms  with 
men  like  them. 

But  that  evening  he  had  no  luck.  Not  seeing 
any  of  the  notable  dons  coming,  he  lingered,  and 
so  almost  ran  into  an  anomalous  Master  of  Arts, 
who  had  proved  himself  too  intolerable  a  bore 
even  for  the  high  table,  and  had  been  banished 
to  a  little  side-table  by  himself.  Instinctively 
Mr.  Bretherton  turned  sharply  round,  as  though 
he  had  left  his  handkerchief  in  his  rooms.  But 
before  he  had  gone  twenty  yards  remorse  at  his 
want  of  charity  seized  him,  and  he  almost  ran 
back  in  pursuit ;  but  the  bore  had  vanished,  and 
after  hesitating  a  few  moments  longer,  Mr. 
Bretherton  entered  the  Hall  alone  and  late.  He 
could  never  quite  determine  whether  it  was  better 
to  walk  up  that  long  stone  pavement  slowly  or 
fast.  If  he  walked  fast  he  attracted  more  atten- 
tion, and,  besides,  it  might  be  thought  that  he 
was  imitating  Canon  Hollings,  who  always 


A    DON'S    DAY  59 

sprang  over  the  ground  like  the  feet  that  bring 
good  tidings,  and  the  whole  young  High  Church 
party,  in  imitation  of  him,  seemed  to  leap  for  joy 
as  they  walked.  On  the  other  hand,  if  he  went 
slowly  the  ordeal  lasted  longer,  and  there  was 
more  danger  of  overhearing  the  undergraduates. 
He  was  on  the  whole  inclined  to  think  that 
Canon  Liddon's  pace  was  the  most  suitable.  It 
was  fairly  rapid,  but  markedly  unobtrusive.  The 
steps  were  very  short ;  the  toes  slightly  turned 
inwards  ;  the  head  a  little  stooping  and  thrust 
forward.  The  smile  in  the  eyes  and  the  charm 
about  the  lips,  as  though  they  were  always  on 
the  point  of  uttering  some  golden  word,  were 
beyond  Mr.  Bretherton,  but  the  rest  he  could 
manage ;  and  arranging  his  gown  so  that  it 
might  hang  with  exact  equality  on  both  sides, 
he  started  on  the  familiar  course  with  the  dread 
of  an  uncomely  girl  who  enters  her  first  ball- 
room. 

Up  between  the  lines  of  men  he  went,  rather 
adroitly  eluding  the  scouts  who  hastened  about 
with  dishes,  but  striving  to  keep  his  eyes  steadily 
fixed  on  the  portrait  of  Henry  VIII.  above  the 
high  table.  The  commoners  were  safely  passed, 
and  then  came  the  two  tables  of  scholars,  each 


60  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

divided  about  the  middle  by  an  invisible  but 
absolutely  impassable  barrier,  to  one  side  of 
which  the  "  smugs"  were  restricted  —  the 
scholars,  that  is,  who  as  a  rule  did  not  shave, 
wore  comforters  in  winter,  and  studied  science, 
or  else  belonged  to  the  Evangelical  party.  As 
he  went  by  he  saw  a  classical  scholar  nod  signifi- 
cantly to  the  Gipper,  and  from  a  dim  sense  of 
suppressed  conversation  he  knew  that  his 
wretched  afternoon  was  already  a  published 
comedy.  It  was  some  relief  to  think  that  the 
"  smugs  "  would  not  understand  it. 

Mounting  the  few  steps  to  the  high  table,  he 
sank  into  the  only  vacant  chair  like  a  hart  that 
finds  the  water  brooks.  But  the  high  table  that 
night  was  small  and  grumpy.  Conversation  was 
always  difficult,  and  an  inexperienced  young  don 
had  now  made  it  impossible  by  announcing  that 
Mr.  Ferguson,  the  lecturer  on  Aristotle,  was 
going  to  publish  his  edition  of  the  Ethics. 
Mr.  Ferguson  had  been  labouring  at  that  edition 
for  so  many  years  that  all  had  reasonably  hoped 
it  would  never  appear.  It  seemed  unfeeling  of 
one  of  their  own  number  to  accomplish  anything. 
It  was  almost  a  breach  of  faith,  and  they  could 
not  understand  how  modest  Ferguson,  of  all 


A    DON'S    DAY  61 

people — a  man  of  no  social  advantages — should 
have  the  bad  taste  to  expose  himself  to  the 
criticism  of  themselves  and  the  University.  The 
young  don,  who  had  himself  lately  written  a 
magazine  article  on  Botticelli,  saw  his  mistake 
and  wondered.  Next  him  sat  a  middle-aged 
don,  who  in  his  hot  youth  had  written  a  treatise 
to  prove  the  Ascension  to  be  an  astronomical 
impossibility,  and  because  the  High  Church 
party  did  not  abandon  Christianity  on  that  ac- 
count, had  embraced  perpetual  martyrdom.  At 
his  side  was  a  clerical  don,  who  had  published 
selections  from  the  Fathers  and  the  Greek 
Anthology,  and  was  thought  a  likely  bishop. 
On  the  opposite  side  of  the  table  were  Mr. 
Bretherton,  a  classical  don  who  had  collated 
a  manuscript  in  Berlin  and  was  supposed  to 
know  all  about  dogs,  a  beautiful  don  who  was 
supposed  to  know  all  about  Shelley,  and  the 
president  of  the  table — an  elderly  clergyman, 
who  was  supposed  to  know  nothing. 

Mr.  Bretherton  did  his  best  to  harden  himself 
into  conversation,  for  if  he  remained  silent  he 
grew  so  uneasy  that  at  last  he  could  hardly  raise 
his  eyes  from  his  plate.  But,  unhappily,  the  pre- 
sident started  the  theme  of  the  reduced  incomes 


62  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

now  derived  from  college  livings.  It  was  the 
only  subject  he  ever  started  anywhere,  but  Mr. 
Bretherton  was  always  sure  he  brought  it  up 
as  a  personal  taunt,  as  though  that  were  the 
reason  that  prevented  him  taking  Orders.  Quite 
unconscious  of  offence,  the  president  pursued 
his  wonted  way,  and  Mr.  Bretherton  shuddered 
through  the  courses,  each  mention  of  the  word 
4 ' living"  producing  in  him  a  sharp  spasm  of 
dyspepsia. 

When  at  last  hall  was  over,  he  sat  for  a  time 
in  the  Common  Room,  pretending  to  read  the 
Church  Times,  and  then  with  a  forced  smile 
excused  himself  on  the  plea  of  attending  the 
mission  meeting.  He  went  twice  past  the  door 
of  the  rooms  in  uTom  "  where  the  meeting  was 
being  held.  He  even  knocked  gently,  hoping 
all  the  time  he  would  not  be  heard,  and  as  his 
knock  was  drowned  by  the  voices  inside,  he 
turned  away  on  tiptoe,  and  crept  back  to  his  own 
rooms. 

Even  for  him  it  had  not  been  a  successful  day. 
As  he  lighted  the  reading-lamp  and  put  on  his 
old  boating-coat,  he  wondered  why  it  had  been, 
if  anything,  worse  than  usual.  By  force  of  habit 
he  opened  Dr.  Wakefield's  Bampton  Lectures  on 


A    DON'S    DAY  63 

"The  Atonement  in  the  Light  of  Modern  Psych- 
ology," as  being  one  of  the  books  from  which 
he  looked  for  guidance  upon  the  decision  that 
was  to  make  or  mar  his  life.  And  for  a  while  he 
read  carefully  on,  struggling  as  usual  to  have  the 
courage  of  other  people's  convictions,  and  at  the 
same  time  making  elaborate  notes  of  all  the 
possible  objections  that  occurred  to  him.  This 
had  been  his  practice  for  years  past,  and  on  this 
method  he  had  perused  several  hundredweight  of 
theology.  In  fact,  he  had  now  gone  so  far  that 
the  amount  of  his  objections  on  either  side  prob- 
ably about  equalled  the  arguments  produced  on 
the  other. 

But  to-night,  when  he  had  satisfactorily  finished 
the  lecture  on  "Vicarious  Sacrifice  and  Moral 
Responsibility, "  he  came  to  "The  Will  in  Matters 
of  Belief,"  and  there  he  could  not  get  on  at  all. 
Through  page  after  page  he  read  the  words,  but 
all  the  time  his  mind  was  watching  an  unbidden 
procession  of  the  day's  hateful  episodes.  They 
came  in  turn,  and  each  was  accompanied  by  a 
little  stab  of  physical  pain.  But  as  they  began 
from  early  morning  and  passed  slowly  on  to 
afternoon,  he  knew  that  the  worst  was  yet  to 
come,  and  then  with  a  pang  like  a  sword  driven 


64  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

through  his  body  he  again  beheld  the  girl  leaning 
on  her  rake,  and  overheard  again  her  terrible 
question.  She  had  called  him  an  old  gaffer,  and 
he  knew  instinctively  that  in  the  hell  of  age 
women  sit  as  judges.  Hitherto  he  had  been 
too  much  occupied  with  other  tortures  to  think 
much  about  growing  old.  He  was  still  only  in 
a  state  of  preparation,  still  considering  what  his 
true  career  was  to  be — that  career  which  he  was 
ready  to  begin  the  moment  that  his  intellectual 
position  was  unassailable.  Unassailable  ?  He 
looked  at  his  book  and  at  his  own  elaborate 
commentary,  which  was  creeping  on  through  one 
notebook  after  another.  He  thought  of  all  he 
had  read  and  had  still  to  read.  He  thought  of 
the  number  of  important  books  which  kept 
appearing  year  by  year  upon  this  very  problem. 
His  uncertainty  might  go  on  for  years  yet,  and 
old  age  lay  in  front  of  him,  no  longer  so  very  far 
away.  He  sank  under  the  picture  of  his  never- 
ending  torment.  His  face  flushed  with  the 
anguish  of  it,  the  bodily  suffering  of  it  twisted 
him  in  his  chair,  and  his  soul  quivered  like  the 
flesh  of  a  flayed  man. 

Then    the    procession    of    the   day's   episodes 
began    to  move  on  again,   and  he  saw  himself 


A    DON'S    DAY  65 

knocking  feebly  at  the  door  of  the  mission  meet- 
ing, hoping  he  would  not  be  heard,  and  stealing 
away  on  the  strength  of  that  contemptible  excuse. 
He  was  terrified  at  his  own  impotence.  The 
cowardice  of  his  self-distrust  was  now  devouring 
all  that  was  good  in  his  nature.  He  had  really 
promised  to  go  to  that  meeting,  and  never  before 
had  he  failed  in  his  engagements.  Certainly  he 
owed  the  mission  some  reparation.  He  would 
subscribe  to  it,  and  subscribe  largely.  He  would 
bequeath  to  it  his  large  theological  library.  He 
would  make  it  an  immediate  donation  of  ^50. 
He  would  present  it  with  an  altar-cloth  for  the 
mission-church,  or  with  a  stained-glass  window 
illustrating  the  legend  of  St.  Frideswide,  the 
patron  saint  of  Christ  Church.  He  would  have 
the  Stations  of  the  Cross  set  up  along  the 
approach  to  the  new  buildings.  He  would 
endow  a  bed  in  the  proposed  hospital,  or  build 
a  lychgate  to  the  cemetery.  He  would  give  a 
gorgeous  banner  for  the  black  procession,  and 
incense-burners  for  the  little  acolytes.  He  would 
perhaps  go  to  visit  the  mission  himself  one 

"Long."     He  would 

A  sudden  thought  sounded  through  his  being 
like  an  alarum  to  arms.     For  a  moment  it  almost 


66  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

deafened  him  with  its  insistent  blare.  It  made 
his  heart  stand  still,  like  the  first  boom  of  the 
guns  in  battle.  Then  the  full  absurdity  of  it 
struck  him,  and  almost  made  him  laugh.  How 
the  whole  College — high  table  and  all — would 
shout  with  derision  if  they  only  knew  that  such 
an  idea  had  even  entered  his  mind  !  No  ;  his 
service  must  be  limited  to  gifts  and  subscriptions. 
Nothing  more  could  possibly  be  required  of  him. 
For  a  man  of  his  habits  and  tastes  and  sensitive 
health,  that  other  idea  was  really  too  ludicrous. 
Shaking  it  off  almost  irritably,  he  turned  to 
the  Bampton  Lectures  again  with  the  contented 
sigh  of  a  sow  returning  to  the  mire.  But  still 
he  could  not  read.  After  a  page  or  two  of 
meaningless  phrases,  the  words  began  to  dance 
up  and  down,  taking  the  form  of  little  black 
people  with  arms  that  waved  him  a  grotesque 
welcome. 

He  sprang  from  his  chair  and  walked  to  and 
fro  about  the  room,  wiping  the  sweat  from  his 
forehead.  This  was  becoming  worse  than  ridicu- 
lous :  it  was  horrible.  He  looked  at  himself  in 
the  picture-glass  of  Holman  Hunt's  "Scapegoat," 
and  wondered  if  he  was  going  insane.  That 
ludicrous  idea  which  had  stolen  unasked  into  his 


A    DON'S    DAY  67 

mind  seemed  to  possess  him  now.  He  grappled 
with  it  as  though  to  shake  it  off,  but  it  only 
clung  the  tighter. 

Frightened  at  himself,  he  went  hurriedly  to 
the  open  window  and  looked  out,  in  hopes 
that  the  sight  of  men  and  the  familiar  world 
would  restore  his  sanity.  It  was  late ;  there 
stood  the  Oxford  spires,  silently  watching  in 
the  moon.  As  though  animated  with  the  spirits 
of  the  great  souls  who  had  lived  in  their 
shadow,  they  seemed  to  watch  what  he  him- 
self would  do.  What  if  even  now,  at  the  last 
moment,  it  should  be  granted  him  to  join  the 
number  of  the  great-hearted,  and  fill  some  little 
gap  in  the  ranks  of  those  warrior-saints?  He 
trembled  with  terror  at  his  own  daring,  so 
incredible  for  him — poor  Bretherton,  the  don, 
who  was  certain  of  nothing  but  the  uses  of  two 
Greek  particles — seemed  the  prospect  of  such 
glory. 

In  a  fever  of  excitement — the  wild  absurdity 
battling  for  life  against  the  disciplined  battalions 
of  his  habits  and  apprehensions — he  walked  up 
and  down  his  room  again.  Bit  by  bit  he  felt  the 
ludicrous  monster  gaining  ground,  till  at  last 
prudence  warned  him  to  abandon  the  conflict  for 


68  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

that  night,  and  go  to  bed  as  usual,  in  the  hope  of 
awaking  sane.  He  obeyed  her,  and  began  to 
undress.  He  would  sleep,  and  sanity  would 
come  with  waking.  Sanity  !  Yes,  but,  sane  or 
not,  how  could  he  survive  the  waking  to  such 
another  day  as  this  had  been — this  and  hundreds 
before — now  that  this  brief  blaze  of  light  had 
illuminated  his  soul  ?  He  could  not  endure  the 
thought.  Standing  solemnly  in  his  shirt-sleeves, 
he  prayed  that  rather  than  that  he  might  die 
before  morning. 

Then  he  slowly  unfastened  the  "  larky  tie," 
and  folded  it  on  the  dressing-table  with  the 
tenderness  one  feels  for  an  enemy  whom  some 
great  deliverance  shared  in  common  has  made  a 
friend.  Only  once  again  was  his  mind  shaken  : 
it  was  when  in  the  looking-glass  he  caught  sight 
of  himself  in  his  nightgown,  his  thin  legs  visible 
below  the  knees,  and  his  thin  chest  appearing 
through  the  opening  down  the  front.  That  re- 
flected figure  certainly  did  look  singularly  un- 
heroic. 

But  never  mind  !  He  could  give  up  night- 
gowns, and  in  tropical  climates  it  was  probably 
better  to  be  too  thin  than  too  fat.  With  a  beat- 
ing heart  and  a  buoyant  sense  of  glory,  he 


A    DON'S    DAY  69 

plunged  into  bed,  and  all  night  long  joy  sat 
sleepless  on  his  pillow. 

"Quarter  past  seven,  sir,"  said  old  Chandler 
next  morning  in  a  warning  tone  as  he  poured 
out  the  bath-water,  making  a  fine  rattle  with  the 
can.  "  Breakfast  in,  sir?  Yes,  sir.  The  usual 
fish?" 

"  Yes,  please,  Chandler,"  said  the  gentle  voice 
from  the  bed.  "  But  stay  a  moment,"  it  added 
suddenly;  "no,  Chandler,  not  the  usual  fish 
to-day." 

The  old  scout  stood  staring  with  the  empty 
can  in  his  hand. 

"Did  you  say  not  the  usual  fish,  sir?"  he 
asked,  almost  threateningly. 

"  If  you  please,  not,"  was  the  emphatic  answer; 
"anything  in  the  world  except  the  usual  fish." 

"I  don't  like  the  looks  on  it,"  whispered 
old  Chandler  to  the  boy  outside  the  door.  "I 
always  was  afeard  as  this  is  what  it  might  come 
to." 

That  evening  it  was  known  in  Hall  that  the 
Brether  had  volunteered  to  go  as  chief  lay- 
helper  to  the  Crocodile's  Comfort,  and  had  been 
accepted. 

"I   wonder  if  the  crocodiles  will  find  him  a 


70  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

pleasant  change  after  the  streaky  niggers,"  said 
the  Gipper. 

And  all  night  long  the  College  laughed.  There 
seemed  no  end  to  the  absurd  situations  that  might 
be  realised  on  the  Niger,  with  the  Brether  as 
hero.  Even  the  " smugs"  laughed' too. 


ST.   JOHN   OF   AMIENS 

IN  the  fair  church  of  Amiens 
There  lies  the  relic  of  St.  John, 
Some  say  it  is  the  skull  of  him 
Beheaded,  as  the  gospels  tell, 
By  Herod  for  a  woman's  whim, 
What  time  her  daughter  danced  so  well. 
(St.  John  the  Baptist,  ever  blest, 
Bring  me  to  his  eternal  rest.) 

But  some  adore  it  as  the  head 
Of  John  Divine,  the  same  who  said, 
'  My  little  children,  love  each  other,' 
And  lay  upon  Lord  Jesu's  heart, 
And  took  in  trust  the  Blessed  Mother, 
Till  she  in  glory  did  depart. 
(St.  John  Divine,  the  son  of  love, 
Preserve  me  to  his  peace  above.) 

For  John  the  Baptist's  head,  they  say, 
Was  broken  up  in  Julian's  day  ; 
One  bit  is  in  Samaria's  town, 
And  two  beneath  Byzantium's  dome, 
And  Genoa  has  half  the  crown, 
The  nose  and  forehead  rest  in  Rome. 
(St.  John  the  Baptist's  scattered  dust 
Bring  me  to  kingdoms  of  the  just.) 


72  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

But  there  are  others  say  again 
St.  John  Divine  escaped  the  pain 
Of  death's  last  conflict,  for  he  lies 
Still  sleeping  in  his  bishopric 
Of  Ephesus,  until  his  eyes 
Shall  ope  to  judgment  with  the  quick. 
(St.  John  Divine,  who  sleeps  so  fast, 
Wake  me  to  paradise  at  last.) 

For  me,  a  poor  unwitting  man, 
I  pray  and  worship  all  I  can  ; 
Sure  that  the  blessed  souls  in  heaven 
Will  not  be  jealous  of  each  other, 
And  the  mistake  will  be  forgiven 
If  for  one  saint  I  love  his  brother. 
(St.  John  Divine  and  Baptist  too, 
Stand  at  each  side  whate'er  I  do.) 

And  so  that  dubious  mystery 
Which  of  the  twain  those  relics  be, 
I  leave  to  God  ;  He  knows,  I  wis  ; 
How  should  a  thing  like  me  decide  ? 
And  whosesoever  skull  it  is, 
St.  John,  I  trow,  is  satisfied. 

(May  God,  who  reads  all  hearts  aright, 
Admit  my  blindness  to  His  sight.) 


IV 
SIC  VOS  NON  VOBIS 

A 5  a  free  lance  in  journalism,  Edward  Morton 
was  doing  fairly  well.  He  had  wide  sym- 
pathies, embracing  literature  and  the  drama, 
politics,  and  even  statistics.  In  fact,  he  was  ready 
to  embrace  anything  that  showed  a  hope  of 
progress  or  elevation,  and  had  acquired  a  rather 
remarkable  store  of  general  knowledge — a  pos- 
session worth  having  in  journalism  alone.  He 
never  made  slipshod  mistakes  or  exposed  a  news- 
paper to  the  feline  interjections  of  her  contem- 
poraries. His  " stuff"  was  always  written  in  a 
strong  and  concise  style,  always  up  to  time, 
always  the  right  length,  and  as  easy  to  read  as 
print.  So  editors  liked  him,  and  if  sometimes 
he  showed  traces  of  an  unaccountable  depth  of 
passion  or  originality,  they  had  little  difficulty  in 
cutting  all  that  out,  as  being  incomprehensible 
to  themselves  and  their  readers. 

73 


74  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

He  lived  on  the  second  floor  of  a  lodging- 
house  off  Brunswick  Square,  and  one  morning  in 
November,  instead  of  being  bent  over  his  writing- 
table,  as  a  journalist  should  be,  he  was  crouching 
on  his  heels  before  his  sitting-room  fire,  intently 
occupied  with  the  contents  of  a  frying-pan. 
With  one  hand  he  held  it  carefully  just  above 
the  coals,  where  it  would  not  smoke,  and  with 
the  other  he  gently  stirred,  now  and  then  putting 
in  just  a  pinch  of  various  spices  and  chopped 
herbs  which  he  had  arranged  in  a  row  upon  the 
hearthrug.  At  last  the  golden  yellow  began  to 
bubble  and  thicken.  A  few  more  stirs,  a  final 
taste  from  the  wrong  end  of  the  spoon,  and  he 
lifted  it  delicately  on  to  a  white  plate,  which  he 
first  dusted  back  and  front  with  a  clean,  folded 
pocket-handkerchief.  Then  he  pulled  a  draggle- 
tailed  bellrope,  and  a  draggle-tailed  girl  appeared, 
sniffing  and  rubbing  her  red  hands  together.  A 
grimy  duster  was  bound  under  her  chin  and 
tied  in  a  knot  at  the  top  of  her  head,  so  that  the 
ends  flopped  about  like  a  rabbit's  ears. 

"  Miss  Mahoney's  breakfast's  ready  now,"  said 
Morton  without  looking  round.  "  Have  you  got 
the  tray?" 

"  Yus,"  said  Sarah,  taking  up  a  worn  tea-tray 


SIC    VOS    NON    VOBIS  75 

from  the  armchair,  breathing  on  it,  and  polishing 
off  the  mist  with  her  apron. 

Morton  turned  to  take  it,  and  catching  sight  of 
the  girl  he  cried,  "What  in  the  world  is  that 
you've  got  on  your  head?" 

"  Face-ache,"  said  Sarah. 

"Take  it  off  at  once." 

"Shan't,"  said  Sarah.  "Ain't  goin'  to  look 
like  a  suet  puddin'  not  to  please  nobody." 

"  Well,  you  can't  go  up  to  Miss  Mahoney  with 
that  thing  on." 

"Then  yer  can  go  up  yerself,"  said  Sarah, 
clattering  the  tray  down  on  the  table. 

Morton  looked  into  the  fire  and  hesitated  a 
moment. 

"Is  Miss  Mahoney  up  and  dressed?"  he  asked. 

"  Dressed  she  never  is  at  this  time  of  mornin'," 
said  Sarah.  "She  just  slips  on  somethink  red  and 
sets  warmin'  her  toes  and  eatin'  her  breakfast 
and  readin'  and  doin'.  Work,  she  calls  it !  Why, 
she  don't  so  much  as  catlick  her  own  room,  if  it 
wasn't  for  me  scrubbin'  and  sousin'  once  a  week, 
and  her  settin'  on  the  table  with  her  feet  tucked 
up  to  keep  'em  dry.  But  if  yer  mean  up,  yus, 
she  is  up.  Anyways  she's  been  chuckin'  the 
water  about  fit  to  drowned  'erself." 


76  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

Sarah  drew  breath  and  remained  motionless 
as  an  automaton  run  down. 

"All  right,  Sarah,"  said  Morton,  "you  can't 
go  up  looking  like  that.  You'd  frighten  her  to 
death  !  " 

"Frighten  yerself!"  cried  Sarah,  and  putting 
her  hand  to  her  cheek,  she  vanished  with  a 
sniffle. 

For  a  moment  longer  Morton  hesitated.  "It 
was  on  Tuesday  I  saw  her  last,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "that  time  we  met  at  the  door  by  accident 
— really  by  accident — and  to-day's  Saturday. 
She  could  hardly  think  that  too  often.  And 
after  all,  it  couldn't  seem  queer  for  a  lodger  to 
bring  up  her  things  because  the  landlady's  at 
Margate,  and  the  slavey's  ill.  I'll  just  leave  the 
tray  and  come  away  again." 

Meantime  he  was  delicately  rolling  the  ome- 
lette into  the  recognised  form.  Then  going  to 
his  collar-drawer,  he  took  out  another  clean 
handkerchief  and  spread  it  over  the  tray.  From 
the  hob  he  lifted  two  earthenware  pots  of  coffee 
and  milk  and  a  rack  of  toast.  When  all  was 
ready,  he  scrutinised  it  with  an  eye  to  perfection. 

"  I  suppose  a  flower  of  sorts  is  what  it  wants," 
he  thought,  "but  that  can't  be  helped.  Besides, 


SIC    VOS    NON    VOBIS  77 

she'll  be  thinking  of  something-  else  this  morn- 
ing. What  glorious  luck  old  Wilcox  sending 
her  book  to  me  to  review !  The  old  swine 
doesn't  often  send  what  I  ask  him." 

He  went  upstairs  to  the  door  above  his  own, 
making  the  china  rattle  to  announce  the  ap- 
proach of  breakfast.  He  knocked  and  entered. 

Sarah  was  quite  right.  The  lady  was  there  ; 
she  had  something  crimson  on,  and  was  sitting 
with  her  feet  to  the  fire,  and  her  back  to  the 
door.  The  firelight  gleamed  on  her  dark  hair 
like  the  reflection  of  a  flame  on  coal. 

"Oh,  my  fine  Ariel,"  she  said,  without  turning 
round,  "how  sweet  of  you  to  be  late!  I  was 
deliciously  late  myself,  and  now  I'm  so  hungry 
and  so  happy.  Light  all  the  candles,  please, 
dear.  It's  so  lovely  to  have  breakfast  by  candle- 
light ;  it's  like  being  a  child  again.  Quick, 
Ariel ;  where  are  the  matches?" 

She  sprang  up,  and  as  she  turned  she  saw  it 
was  not  Sarah  who  was  standing  motionless  with 
the  tray. 

"Very  sorry,  but  Ariel's  ill,"  said  Morton, 
"so  she  thought  perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind  if 
Caliban  came  on  for  a  turn." 

"O    Mr.    Morton,   how  very  kind   of  you!" 


78  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

she  said,  while  with  her  left  hand  she  un- 
consciously drew  the  edges  of  the  crimson  some- 
thing together. 

"  Sarah  thought  you  would  forgive  me,"  Mor- 
ton said  again,  as  though  Sarah  were  a  standard 
work  on  etiquette.  He  put  the  tray  on  a  little 
table  by  the  fire,  and  struck  a  match  on  his 
trousers  to  light  the  candles. 

"  Oh,  you  are  too  good  ;  I  thank  you  with  all 
my  heart,"  she  said,  and  gave  him  her  delicate 
hand  as  though  her  heart  were  in  it.  "  I  believe 
it's  all  the  fog,"  she  went  on,  laughing.  "  I  love 
a  fog — a  r-r-real  fog.  It  makes  everybody  so 
amiable.  It  seems  to  put  all  London  under  one 
blanket." 

"  Not  a  wet  blanket,  or  you  wouldn't  have  said 
you  were  so  happy  to-day,  I  suppose,"  he 
answered,  giving  a  final  little  tug  to  straighten 
his  handkerchief  on  the  middle  of  the  tray. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  smiling  over  an 
inward  joy.  "Everything  always  makes  me 
happy,  except,  of  course,  when  I'm  miserable." 

"By  the  way,"  said  Morton,  as  though  sud- 
denly remembering  something,  "I  must  con- 
gratulate you  on  the  review  of  your  book  in  last 
night's  Piccadilly." 


SIC    VOS    NON    VOBIS  79 

"Oh,  did  you  see  that?"  she  asked,  trying1  to 
hide  her  pleasure.  "  Wasn't  it  sweet  of  the 
editor  to  give  me  so  much  space  ?  I  should  like 
to  stroke  the  top  of  his  old  head.  Oh,  Mr. 
Morton,  you  know  all  about  those  things  ;  do 
you  think  it  said  too  much?  It  was  so  lovely, 
so  sweet,  so  clever,  too  !  And  the  best  of  it  all 
is  that  it  must  be  true,  because  it  can't  have  been 
written  by  a  friend.  You  see,  nobody  knows 
me,  so  it  must  be  true." 

"Well,"  said  Morton,  "I  always  thought  the 
beauty  of  anonymous  journalism  was  that  one 
friend  could  abuse  another  and  still  be  his  friend." 

"  But  I'm  sure  this  wasn't  a  friend,"  she  went 
on  eagerly.  "I  only  know  one  man  who  can 
write  like  that,  and  he's  not  a  journalist.  And 
what  do  you  think  the  best  of  it  all  is?  The 
Metropolis  has  taken  a  little  sketch  of  mine  ! 
They  wrote  about  it  this  morning.  And  it's  all 
that  review,  I'm  sure  !  " 

"That's  grand,  "said  Morton,  carefully  pouring 
out  the  coffee.  "  But  you  mustn't  let  breakfast 
get  cold." 

"Yes,  it's  grand,"  she  said,  as  she  settled 
comfortably  down  to  the  table  with  a  sigh  of 
pleasure,  "and,  what's  more,  it's  two  pounds." 


80  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"Twa  poon'  is  twa  poon',"  said  Morton, 
quoting  the  Byron  farce  of  his  childhood. 

"That  may  be  true  for  some  people,"  she 
answered,  "but  to  me  two  pounds  is  Africa  and 
golden  joys — for  one  day,  at  least.  I've  thought 
of  my  golden  joy.  You'd  never  guess." 

"Rent,  fire,  dress,  drink,  or  food?"  said 
Morton.  "  Man  wants  nothing  else  here  below." 

"Oh,  doesn't  he?"  she  retorted.  "Why,  I 
want — I  want  everything  else.  But  when  you 
say  food,  you're  getting  warm,  as  the  children 
say.  I'm  going  to  give  a  dinner." 

"A  dinner?"  said  Morton,  involuntarily 
glancing  at  the  little  table,  and  then  back  at 
the  bright  jewel  of  crimson  and  kindling  black 
beside  it. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  sipping  the  coffee  he  had 
roasted  and  ground  so  tenderly;  "it  will  be 
superb  !  I  thought  it  out  in  bed  this  morning 
as  soon  as  the  letter  came.  I'll  get  Nina  Wynd- 
ham,  and  if  she  comes,  Mr.  Powell  is  as  certain 
to  be  here  as  the  tide  to  rise  at  full  moon.  And 
then  there'll  be  you — you  will  come,  won't  you  ?" 
(She  just  put  out  one  hand  in  invitation.)  "And 
then — let  me  see.  I  should  like  to  ask  Mr. 
Martin  Dale  ;  don't  you  think  I  might  ? " 


SIC    VOS    NON    VOBIS  81 

"  Certainly,"  said  Morton,  conscious  only  of 
his  joy  in  looking  at  her;  "he's  a  very  good 
sort." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that,"  she  answered;  "he's 
so  much  more  than  that." 

"I  only  meant  he  is  beyond  comparison  the 
first  of  living  poets,"  said  Morton,  with  a 
smile. 

"That's  better,  though  it  sounds  like  a  re- 
view," she  answered.  "But  there's  one  thing 
I  want  to  ask  you  about  :  where  shall  we 
dine?" 

"Well,"  he  answered  thoughtfully,  "there  are 
the  eighteenpennies  in  Soho,  and  I  know  one 
where  wine  is  included." 

"O  model  of  the  virtuous  apprentice!  Do 
you  think  I'm  going  to  feed  my  friends  on  eigh- 
teenpence  when  I've  got  two  pounds?"  She 
threw  out  her  arms  like  a  queen  scattering 
golden  largess  to  her  populace. 

"Well  then,"  he  said  patiently,  "at  the 
Cloches  you  can  go  further  and  pay  more,  as 
the  advertisements  say." 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !  "  she  cried ;  "  none  of  your  stuffy 
restaurants  for  me — indistinguishable  waiters  and 
a  smell  of  dinners  immemorial  !  Anybody  can 
G 


82  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

buy  a  dinner  ;  my  Ariel  can  make  one.  We  will 
dine  here — here  in  my  own  room.  I  decided 
that  long  ago.  She's  a  glorious  cook,  isn't  she? 
This  omelette's  as  perfect,  as  unexpected,  as 
inevitable  as — as — a  lyric  of  Martin  Dale's,  let 
us  say." 

"  I'm  so  glad,"  said  Morton. 

"Yes,  my  Ariel  is  superb,"  she  went  on. 
"Who  would  have  thought  the  very  soul  of 
poetic  cooking  lay  prisoned  in  that  half-blooded 
little  form,  with  tight  hair,  and  such  slippers  too  ! 
But  you  say  she's  ill — my  dainty  spirit  ?  I  must 
take  her  to  a  doctor  at  once.  She  must  be  well 
by  to-night  at  all  costs." 

"  To-night  ?  "  repeated  Morton. 

"Certainly;  we  must  have  the  dinner  to- 
night," she  answered.  "Do  you  think  I  can 
keep  two  pounds  for  ever  ?  " 

"  But  your  sketch  isn't  even  printed  yet." 

'  '  You  mean  I  have  not  even  yet  the  two  pounds  ? 
You  are  quite  right.  You  shall  lend  them  to  me. 
Money  or  no  money,  we  must  have  the  dinner 
to-night.  I'm  quite  sure  Mr.  Martin  Dale  hasn't 
had  enough  to  eat  lately.  It's  all  very  well  to  be 
the  greatest  of  living  poets,  but  you  must  be 
kept  alive  for  that,  mustn't  you  ?  Think  of  being 


SIC    VOS    NON    VOBIS  83 

hungry — hungry  and  a  poet !  Why,  I'd  pawn 
my  only  frock — I'd  do  anything  in  the  world  to 
feed  a  hungry  man,  wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  or  even  a  hungry  woman,"  said  Morton, 
laughing;  " anybody  would." 

"I'm  sure  they  would, "  she  answered.  ( ' Every- 
body is  so  sweet,  really.  But  now  I  must  send 
you  away.  I  shall  have  to  be  busy  for  this 
evening." 

"  But  couldn't  I  help  you?  Sarah  really  isn't 
fit  for  anything,  and  I  have  nothing  on  earth  to 
do,"  said  Morton,  compelled  to  look  down  by 
the  immensity  of  the  fiction,  and  then  fixing  his 
eyes  on  two  narrow  and  shapely  feet  just  peering 
out  under  the  crimson. 

"  Help  me?  Of  course  you  shall,"  she 
answered,  with  her  happy  laugh;  "you  shall 
lend  me  all  the  things  you've  got,  and  then  you 
shall  go  out  into  the  fog  and  order  everything 
in,  like  a  fairy  godmother — goldfish,  and  pea- 
cocks, and  amaranth,  and  the  bags  of  the  honey- 
bee, or  whatever  else  a  poet  would  be  likely  to 
eat.  And  what  about  wine  for  him  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  Morton,  "Sauterne  is  said  to 
give  you  a  gentle  melancholy,  and  Browning 
drank  Chablis  and  actually  made  it  rhyme  with 


84  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

Rabelais  !  So  either  of  those  would  do  for  a 
poet." 

4 'Yes,"  she  said,  " something  delicate  and 
golden,  to  make  us  think  we  are  sitting  under 
vines  that  cover  ancient  walls  on  the  bank  of 
some  storied  river  in  the  south.  Or  get  Capri, 
and  bid  the  white  columns  on  a  headland  rise, 
where  we,  reclined  on  roses,  cherish  night !  " 

The  wild  little  face  strove  in  vain  to  mock  a 
tragedy  queen  as  she  recited  the  words. 

"  Lend  me  a  pencil,  please,"  she  went  on,  and, 
tearing  off  the  margin  of  a  newspaper,  she  began 
with  an  air  of  intense  preoccupation  to  make  out 
her  list  of  requisites. 

"  There  !  "  she  said,  handing  it  to  him  at  last, 
"  I  always  knew  nature  made  me  a  housekeeper, 
and  civilisation  made  me  a  three-pair-front. 
Think  how  glorious  to  keep  a  kraal,  to  feed  and 
comfort  my  warrior  when  home  they  brought 
him  alive  !  Do  you  think  a  flattering  review 
is  better  than  that  ?  But  now  I  must  take  Ariel 
to  the  doctor.  I  wonder  have  I  got  five  shillings 
to  pay  him  with  ?  If  not,  I  must  pawn  her  as 
I  go ! " 

The  reflection  of  her  face  brightened  the  misty 
staircase  as  Morton  went  down  to  his  room 


SIC    VOS    NON    VOBIS  85 

below.  There  he  stood  bewildered  as  a  City 
clerk  whose  daily  bearings  have  suddenly  been 
upset  by  an  earthquake.  Neatly  arranged  on  his 
writing-table  lay  his  copy-paper — four  and  a  half 
sides  already  covered  with  an  article  on  the 
variation  of  the  birth-rate  according  to  the  price 
of  bread.  It  had  to  be  in  by  next  morning. 

"But  I  can't  do  it  now,  I  simply  can't,"  he 
said,  looking  again  at  the  margin  of  newspaper 
in  his  hand.  "  And  yet  she'll  want  money,  she'll 
always  want  money.  That's  glorious — glorious ! " 

From  his  table-drawer  he  took  out  four  or  five 
cheques  and  chose  the  biggest.  "  That'll  do," 
he  said.  "It  was  for  that  article,  'A  nest  of 
Singing  Birds,'  which  almost  made  Martin  Dale 
famous.  That's  just  the  thing,  as  the  dinner  is 
really  for  him." 

As  he  put  back  the  other  cheques,  he  smiled 
with  sudden  happiness.  "  I  know  what  I'll  do," 
he  murmured;  "I'll  open  a  banking  account. 
Everybody  who  has  anything  to  live  for  ought 
to  have  a  banking  account." 

Then  he  ran  out  into  the  happy  fog,  that 
covered  all  London  under  one  blanket,  as  he 
remembered. 

From  market  to  market  he  wandered,  choosing 


86  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

the  very  best  of  everything,  surpassing  in  dainti- 
ness even  the  delicate  notes  on  his  paper.  His 
burden  of  rush  baskets  fastened  with  skewers, 
bottles  of  wine,  and  long  rolls  of  chrysanthe- 
mums and  Riviera  roses  grew  so  fast  that  he  had 
to  take  a  four-wheeler,  and  go  crawling  about 
through  the  smoky  darkness,  himself  all  aflame 
with  impatience  and  a  secret  joy  almost  too 
tender  to  be  looked  at. 

Plunging  into  the  depths  of  the  kitchen,  he 
laid  the  things  one  by  one  upon  the  table,  and 
there  by  the  firelight  he  beheld  Sarah  whimpering 
with  self-pity,  and  looking  more  incapable  and 
unkempt  than  ever  ;  while  at  her  side  a  sweet 
and  pliant  form  was  kneeling  and  gently  sponging 
the  woebegone  face  with  hot  water  from  a  sauce- 
pan. 

"  Is  that  you,  Mr.  Morton?"  said  Miss 
Mahoney,  without  turning  round.  "I'm  so  glad 
you've  come.  Poor  Sarah  has  been  suffering  un- 
speakable things.  But  it'll  soon  be  better  ;  it's 
all  over  now." 

"  No,  it  ain't  all  over,"  sobbed  Sarah.  "  I  can 
feel  the  soft  place  with  my  tongue,  and  it  keeps 
on  bleedin'.  Oh,  what  would  my  poor  muvver 
say  if  she  caught  sight  on  me  now?" 


SIC    VOS    NON    VOBIS  87 

She  was  determined  to  make  the  utmost  of 
sympathy's  unaccustomed  luxury. 

"Come,  stop  that  noise,  there's  a  good  girl," 
said  Morton,  with  cheerful  firmness,  "and  look 
at  all  these  nice  things  I've  brought  you  to 
cook." 

"Can't  cook;  yer  know  that  well  enough," 
Sarah  squeaked  out ;  but  still  she  stopped  her 
wailing  and  mopped  her  eyes  and  nose  with  a 
ball  of  handkerchief  as  she  watched  Morton 
light  the  gas  and  spread  the  purchases  out  for 
exhibition. 

"Oh,  Sarah,  your  cooking  is  quite  angelic. 
Now,  do  try  to  cheer  up  and  forget  all  about  it," 
said  Miss  Mahoney,  gently  sponging, the  whole 
of  the  poor,  putty  face,  and  wiping  it  with  her 
own  soft  handkerchief. 

"Don't  want  to  cheer  up,  and  ain't  goin'  to 
forget,"  said  Sarah,  greedy  for  such  sweet  woe. 

"Now,  Miss  Mahoney,"  said  Morton  in  his 
resolute,  matter-of-fact  voice,  ( '  if  you  would  take 
the  flowers  upstairs,  you  can  leave  me  with 
Sarah,  and  I'll  help  her  as  much  as  I  can.  It's 
rather  a  comfort  the  landlady's  enjoying  herself 
at  Margate,  isn't  it?  Are  all  three  guests 
coming  ?  " 


88  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"Nina  has  telegraphed  'yes,'"  said  Miss 
Mahoney,  smoothing  Sarah's  tangled  wisp  of 
colourless  hair  as  she  got  up  from  her  side,  "so 
that  Mr.  Powell  is  certain.  I've  not  heard  from 
Mr.  Dale,  but  I  know  he'll  come.  I  mean,  no 
one  ever  does  hear  from  Mr.  Dale,"  she  added 
inconsequently. 

"  We  haven't  too  much  time,"  said  Morton. 
"I'm  going,"  she  answered.      "  I  wish  I  could 
tell  you  how  sweet  it  is  of  you  to  help  us  all  like 
this,  and  you  always  so  dreadfully  busy  too." 

She  was  gone  with  the  flowers,  and  all  the 
shabby  pots  and  pans  hanging  round  the  kitchen 
ceased  to  reflect  light. 

But  the  light  was  in  Morton's  heart,  and 
danced  and  sparkled  there  through  the  afternoon. 
He  closed  the  shutters,  as  it  were,  upon  it,  so 
that  he  might  work  the  harder  ;  but  it  was  that 
shuttered  radiance  which  made  the  work  go  so 
well  and  quickly,  while,  stripped  of  his  coat  and 
waistcoat,  he  boiled  the  soup  and  roasted  the 
pheasants  and  mashed  the  potatoes  and  mixed 
the  salad  in  a  basin,  giving  all  the  while  his  quiet 
directions  to  Sarah,  who  obeyed  like  a  tin  soldier, 
and  forgot  all  her  woes  in  the  excitement  of 
seeing  things  come  right. 


SIC    VOS    NON    VOBIS  89 

Just  in  time  to  wash  and  change  for  the  dinner 
itself,  he  had  everything  ready  down  to  the  last 
touch  of  flavouring,  and  had  made  Sarah  twice 
repeat  her  orders.  As  he  entered  the  room  above 
his  own  he  found  Miss  Mahoney  just  coming  out 
from  her  bedroom  into  the  "  furnished  apartment," 
which  she  had  made  soft  and  fragrant  with 
flowers  and  blended  lights.  She  came  quickly 
across  the  room  to  greet  him. 

"  You  and  I  must  play  host  and  hostess,"  she 
said,  "  because  we  two  live  under  the  same  roof. 
I  cannot  thank  you  enough  for  all  you  have 
done.  But  then,  one  doesn't  thank  the  host, 
I  believe." 

Morton  held  her  hand  and  looked  down  at  the 
slight  and  exquisitely  graceful  figure,  whose  head 
just  reached  to  his  chin.  With  his  deep  chest 
and  great,  square  shoulders  he  felt  he  could  lap 
her  round  and  engulf  her  like  a  wave.  But  he 
only  looked  in  silence,  and  for  one  moment  the 
ecstasy  of  joy  was  his. 

Someone  knocked  lightly  at  the  door.  "  That's 
Nina,"  she  whispered,  and  drew  her  hand  away 
so  softly  that  it  seemed  like  a  caress. 

She  ran  to  the  door,  and  kissed  on  both  cheeks 
the  laughing,  rosy,  yellow-haired  girl  who  entered 


90  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

— Nina  Wyndham,  a  violent  revolutionist  and  a 
valued  contributor  to  the  ladies'  column  of  a 
weekly  newspaper. 

They  had  hardly  passed  into  Miss  Mahoney's 
room  when  Mr.  Powell  arrived,  with  a  proximity 
just  far  enough  removed  to  confirm  any  suspicion 
that  he  and  Nina  had  come  almost  up  to  the  front 
door  together.  He  was  a  leader-writer  on  the 
Morning  Herald — substantial  in  form,  mind,  and 
even  in  pocket.  Characterised,  rather  than 
adorned,  by  common  sense,  he  was  born  for  com- 
placent Conservatism  and  West-End  clubs,  where 
he  would  have  shared  the  languid  scorn  of  all 
hopes  and  ideas  as  sentimental  and  fatuous,  had 
not  his  long  and  successful  devotion  to  Miss 
Wyndham  transformed  him  into  an  astonishing 
hybrid  between  a  member  of  the  Reform  Club 
and  a  French  Communard. 

When  Miss  Wyndham  came  in  again  without 
her  hat  and  cloak,  she  greeted  him  with  a  pleasur- 
able surprise  that  deceived  no  one,  not  even  her- 
self, for  she  knew  the  others  were  aware  they  had 
parted  hardly  five  minutes  before.  Then  they  all 
stood  talking  about  various  things,  while  each  was 
thinking  of  something  far  more  intimate. 

In  the  midst,  Sarah's  head  was  thrust  in  at  the 


SIC    VOS    NON    VOBIS  91 

door.  "  Please,  miss,"  she  said,  "  shall  I  dish 
up?  The  things  is  spilin'." 

The  growing  shade  of  anxiety  on  Miss 
Mahoney's  face  deepened  a  little  as  she  said, 
"  Five  minutes  more,  Sarah.  You  see,  it's  Mr. 
Dale,"  she  added  in  apology  to  the  others,  while 
she  touched  the  flowers  on  the  table  as  though 
to  arrange  them  just  to  perfection. 

"Oh,  everybody  gives  him  at  least  an  hour  to 
be  late,"  said  Miss  Wyndham,  laughing,  "and 
when  he  comes  he  is  so  perfectly  delightful  that 
everybody  forgets  it." 

"That's  true,"  said  Morton  heartily,  at  which 
Miss  Mahoney  smiled,  and  Mr.  Powell  looked 
rather  bored,  and  said  he  supposed  poets  were 
quite  different  from  other  people. 

Just  as  Miss  Mahoney  had  rung  the  bell  in 
despair,  and  Sarah  had  produced  the  soup  in  a 
big  china  bowl  under  a  metal  dish-cover  that 
rattled  ominously,  a  thin,  dark  figure  seemed  to 
slide  into  the  room,  though  the  door  was  hardly 
more  than  ajar,  and  with  eyes  all  soft  and  brilliant 
Miss  Mahoney  went  to  greet  him.  Miss  Wynd- 
ham gave  them  one  quick  look,  as  though  she 
almost  expected  an  electric  spark  to  flash  from 
their  hands  as  they  touched.  Mr.  Powell  nodded 


92  BETWEEN   THE    ACTS 

rather  patronisingly,  and  went  towards  his  chair 
at  the  table.  Morton,  as  usual,  felt  a  certain 
shyness  in  the  poet's  presence,  partly  because  of 
his  extreme  admiration.  In  that  gaunt  and  ascetic 
young  face,  with  the  unruly  hair  and  shy  but 
passionate  eyes,  he  saw  the  thing  that  was  lacking 
in  himself — the  sign  of  that  inward  and  spiritual 
grace  which  by  one  little  touch  would  have  con- 
verted his  own  high  and  serviceable  talents  into 
something  rich  and  strange — oh,  how  infinitely 
beyond  his  present  self! 

With  one  quick  thought  all  this  passed  through 
his  mind  as  he  sat  down  next  to  Dale  at  the  table, 
and  then  like  a  flood  of  glory  came  the  memory 
of  all  the  sweetness  of  that  day,  of  all  the  pleasant 
things  he  had  been  able  to  do  in  someone's  service, 
and  of  her  look  when  she  gave  him  her  hand. 
Surely  with  her  inspiration  to  drive  him  on,  he 
could  rise  to  that  level  of  the  gods  where  this 
wild  poet,  with  his  unsaleable  volume  or  two  of 
exquisite  verse,  had  stood  secure  from  his  birth, 
not  needing  the  outside  help  even  of  the  loveliest 
and  most  beloved. 

The  conversation  was  rapid,  whirling  round 
the  successes  or  failures,  and  the  charming  or 
dreary  qualities  of  absent  enemies  and  friends, 


SIC    VOS    NON    VOBIS  93 

while  amid  a  variegated  emblazonment  of  drama, 
journalism,  and  bright  visions  of  the  speedy  ex- 
tinction of  civilisation,  the  happy  courses  ran. 
Quite  unmoved  by  the  most  startling  proposals, 
and  letting  the  rush  of  words  pass  over  her  like  a 
summer  cloud,  Sarah  tramped  and  panted  along 
the  line  laid  down  by  Morton's  rules,  occasionally 
pulling  his  coat-sleeve  and  whispering  in  his  ear 
to  make  sure  she  was  going  right.  But  no  one 
gave  a  thought  to  her  or  the  courses  whether 
they  were  right  or  wrong.  Like  love  himself, 
they  were  too  young  to  know  what  dinner  is. 
All  were  at  their  wildest  and  best,  nor  had  the 
Sauterne  the  effect  of  inducing  that  gentle  melan- 
choly which  Morton  had  foretold.  Martin  Dale 
was  especially  magnificent,  pouring  out  wild 
visions  of  beautiful  absurdity,  or  telling  of  un- 
earthly scenes  and  sayings  which  he  had  caught 
from  another  world  than  this  ;  and  to  Morton 
his  words  seemed  like  strings  of  jewels  full  of 
gleaming  light. 

When  the  courses  had  fled,  Dale  proposed  that 
they  should  drink  the  immortality  of  the  earliest 
Egyptian  papyrus  to  Miss  Mahoney's  book. 

"  May  it  be  perused,"  he  said,  "six  thousand 
years  hence  among  the  ruins  of  St.  Pancras 


94  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

station,  and  may  it  give  the  dullard  Germans  of 
that  date  the  entirely  false  impression  that  Eng- 
land was  possessed  of  a  peculiar  charm  such  as 
never  was  upon  her  land  or  sea  !  " 

"  No,  no,"  Miss  Mahoney  interrupted  quickly, 
"  let  us  leave  all  that,  and  drink  only  to  the  critic 
— the  unknown  critic  !  May  he  win  his  heart's 
desire,  whatever  it  is  !  " 

"  To  the  unknown  critic  !  "  they  all  said. 

"  Splendid  stuff  it  was,  certainly,"  said  Dale. 
"  I  believe,"  he  added,  turning  to  Morton,  who 
was  just  superintending  the  coffee  at  the  fire,  "  I 
believe  you  wrote  that  review,  Morton  !  " 

11  Rot,  my  dear  fellow  !  "  said  Morton,  gently 
stirring  the  brown  froth  ;  "  I'm  only  a  journalist ; 
you  don't  suppose  I  could  touch  imaginative 
work  like  that !  Ask  Powell." 

"Well,  I  suppose  a  journalist  can  gas  like 
other  people  if  he  chooses  ? "  Powell  retorted, 
rather  sharply. 

"  Oh,  please,  please!"  said  Miss  Mahoney; 
"don't  let  us  have  any  of  these  guesses.  My 
prince  of  reviewers  !  He  is  like  a  voice  from  an 
unknown  planet.  Do  you  think  I  want  to  picture 
him  as  a  mere  human  being  ?  No,  not  even  as 
Mr.  Morton  himself." 


SIC    VOS    NON    VOBIS  95 

Morton  was  handing  round  the  coffee  in  a 
mixed  set  of  tea-cups.  As  Miss  Mahoney  took 
hers  from  him  with  just  a  word  of  thanks,  she 
continued  :  "  I  can  only  pray  once  more  that  he 
may  win  the  desire  of  his  heart,  whether  it  be  the 
love  of  woman  or  Westminster  Abbey." 

It  was  half-past  ten,  and  Powell  had  to  get  to 
Fleet  Street  for  his  leader-writing.  He  went 
rather  awkwardly,  for  he  liked  to  be  thought 
important,  and  yet  he  knew  that  his  daily 
routine  of  writing  excluded  him  from  art.  Miss 
Wyndham  went  down  to  the  front  door  with 
him,  and  returned  helplessly  smiling,  to  settle 
down  into  a  deep  armchair  with  just  one  little 
sigh  of  relief. 

"  Oh,  we  all  love  the  man  whom  all  women 
love,"  Miss  Mahoney  was  saying. 

1  'Give  me  an  ogre  all  to  myself,"  Miss 
Wyndham  murmured  again  with  a  comfortable 
sigh. 

"An  ogre,  certainly!"  said  Miss  Mahoney, 
"on  some  wild  Arabian  islands,  haunted  with 
strange  forms.  But  think  of  the  thousands  of 
poor  creatures  whose  ogre  is  a  middle-aged 
gentleman  hurrying  away  from  breakfast  with  a 
bag  and  an  umbrella,  and  his  trousers  turned  up. 


96  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

Oh,  do  not  let  us  remind  ourselves  of  horrors 
to-night  !  "  she  added,  drawing  up  her  chair 
between  Dale  and  Morton,  and  shuddering  as 
with  cold  at  her  terrible  vision. 

"  Perhaps  there  are  compensations,"  said 
Morton,  glancing  at  a  shy  and  inward  picture 
of  such  a  home  as  he  could  make  for  one — for 
one — even  in  a  Brixtonian  terrace. 

4 '  It  is  not  of  the  least  importance  where  you 
live,"  said  Dale,  "  though  it  is  of  some  im- 
portance who  lives  with  you.  But  in  the  end 
the  soul  is  always  alone  and  dwells  in  immeasur- 
able places.  There's  a  fine,  solemn  sentence  for 
you — quite  a  *  Treasure  of  the  Humble'?"  he 
added,  laughing,  as  he  looked  down  on  Miss 
Mahoney's  wild  little  head,  resting  upon  both 
hands  as  she  stared  at  the  flames. 

" Thank  God,  it's  true,"  she  murmured,  and 
they  all  laughed  at  the  far-away  look  with  which 
she  gazed  from  one  to  another  and  then  round 
the  dingy  little  walls,  as  though  indeed  she  stood 
alone  in  the  purple  of  eternity. 

So  the  time  passed,  and  to  one  of  them  it 
was  as  though  he  were  caught  up  beyond  the 
mortal  world.  He  did  not  speak  much  ;  only 
now  and  then  he  put  in  some  shrewd  or  humorous 


SIC    VOS    NON    VOBIS  97 

comment,  or  sent  a  rapid  theory  spinning  with 
some  plain  and  contrary  instance.  For  himself, 
he  only  cared  to  feel  the  softness  of  a  skirt 
that  sometimes  moved  against  him,  and  was 
happy  if,  without  seeming  to  mean  it,  he  could 
place  his  hand  where  it  just  touched  the  silken 
flow  of  a  sleeve.  So  he  could  have  sat  through- 
out ages,  and  wished  the  night  never  to  end. 

But  as  it  struck  twelve,  Miss  Wyndham  sprang 
up  with  a  little  cry  at  the  lateness  of  the  hour  and 
the  long  way  home. 

"  Oh,  don't  go  yet,"  said  Miss  Mahoney, 
"don't  let  this  evening  end.  Mr.  Morton  will 
see  you  back  through  the  fog.  He  has  never  lost 
his  way  in  all  his  life  ;  I'm  sure  he  hasn't." 

But  Miss  Wyndham  insisted.  "Good-bye  then, 
good-bye,"  said  Miss  Mahoney;  "it's  always 
good-bye.  But  we'll  all  meet  here  again — soon 
— soon." 

"  Even  before  the  next  review,"  said  Morton, 
holding  her  hand  just  for  a  moment  longer. 

"Even  before  the  next  lovely  review,"  she 
answered,  looking  up  at  him.  "  How  nice  it  has 
been,  and  now  it  is  all  over." 

"Oh,  no;  it  is  like  yourself,  a  joy  for  ever," 
he   said,   laughing,    as  he    ran    downstairs    after 
H 


98  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

Miss  Wyndham,  calling  for  Dale,  who  had 
stopped  in  the  passage  for  one  last  word. 

But  Miss  Wyndham  would  not  wait,  and 
leaving  the  front  door  ajar  they  went  back  to  her 
lodgings  through  the  fog.  On  the  way  she 
talked  all  the  time  of  Miss  Mahoney,  with  loving 
praise  and  enthusiasm,  and  yet  with  an  undertone 
of  warning  which  he  could  not  understand,  and 
as  they  parted  he  noticed  that  she  looked  at  him 
with  a  kind  of  pitying  solicitude.  She  seemed  to 
cling  to  his  hand  as  though  she  would  almost 
have  drawn  him  through  the  door,  and  he 
suddenly  became  aware  that  for  some  hidden 
reason  she  would  have  tenderly  acquiesced  if  he 
had  caught  her  to  his  heart.  As  he  looked  into 
her  eyes,  something  suddenly  shook  him  till  the 
very  railings  seemed  to  quiver. 

4 'Good-bye,  good-night,"  he  said  hurriedly  as 
he  sprang  down  the  steps,  letting  the  door  slam 
behind  him. 

"  Why  is  it  ?  Why  is  it  ?  "  he  muttered  as  he 
strode  back.  "She  and  Powell  —  everybody 
knows  about  it ;  they  are  real  lovers  in  their 
fashion.  And  I — I  who  am  so  near  the  very 
radiance  of  the  world — who  am  surrounded  by  a 
glory  of  light  because  of  that Cannot  a  man, 


SIC    VOS    NON    VOBIS  99 

then,  be  faithful  for  a  single  hour?  Not  for  twenty 
minutes  ?  " 

He  was  back  at  his  temple  of  the  Crescent 
Moon.  The  door  he  found  just  ajar,  as  he  had 
left  it. 

"  Stupid  ot  Dale!"  he  thought.  "  Did  he 
suppose  I  should  forget  my  latchkey  ?  Or  is  it 
really  impossible  to  be  a  poet  without  being  a 
fool?" 

Putting  out  the  gas,  he  crept  softly  upstairs,  so 
as  not  to  disturb  the  house — so  as  not  to  disturb 
— but  that  was  a  thought  he  dared  not  venture 
on.  In  his  own  room  he  sat  down  beside  a  dying 
fire. 

u  Now  I  will  finish  that  article,"  he  thought. 
"  Let  me  see:  'The  Influence  of  the  Price  of 
Bread  upon  the  Law  of  Population.'  O  Lord  ! 
O  Lord  !  Why  should  people  do  these  things?" 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  with  his  head  between 
his  hands  and  his  eyes  closed,  enjoying  his 
happiness  as  he  recalled  slowly  the  bright  moments 
of  the  day.  Then  he  plunged  into  statistics  with 
that  complete  power  of  abstraction  which  made 
him  so  admirable  a  worker. 

He  had  worked  for  nearly  half  an  hour  and 
was  well  on  with  the  statement  of  his  subject, 


100  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

when  suddenly  a  sound  overhead  made  his  heart 
leap,  though  he  went  on  calmly  adding  up  a  little 
column  of  figures.  Someone  was  moving  in  the 
room  above  him.  He  wrote  down  the  total 
of  the  sum,  and  then  he  listened.  He  could 
not  help  listening.  The  sound  came  again,  and 
more  distinctly.  Someone  walked  a  few  paces. 
There  was  nothing  remarkable  in  that !  It  was 
only  a  footstep — it  was  only — well,  he  surely  knew 
who  it  was  !  And  he  turned  to  his  work  again 
with  a  throbbing  pulse. 

He  had  got  half-way  up  the  next  column  of 
figures  when  the  sound  was  repeated,  and,  ceas- 
ing to  count,  he  sat  up  rigidly  in  his  chair.  The 
footsteps  now  went  backwards  and  forwards.  It 
was  not  only  the  light  step  that  he  knew.  Through 
the  ceiling  he  almost  seemed  to  watch  the  feet, 
and  they  were  moving  side  by  side — so  close. 
And  one  footstep  was  light — so  light — but  the 
other  heavier. 

Then  they  were  still.  A  piece  of  furniture  was 
gently  drawn  forward  towards  the  fire,  and  they 
were  still. 

Morton  was  as  still  as  they — stiller  even,  for 
now  and  then  he  heard  a  faint  sound  overhead, 
but  he  never  moved.  With  one  glance  at  his 


SIC    VOS    NON    VOBIS  101 

half-finished  work  he  sank  together  down  into 
his  chair  as  a  corpse  sinks,  and  that  night  he 
wrote  no  more. 

A  church  clock  seemed  to  strike  the  quarters 
almost  without  a  pause,  but  he  kept  no  record  of 
their  time.  Only  that  at  last,  soon  after  some 
half-hour  had  struck,  he  again  heard  a  footstep 
cross  the  floor.  Then  it  went  back  again,  stayed 
a  long,  long  moment,  and  then  the  door  was 
softly  opened  and  softly  shut,  and  the  soft  foot- 
step crept  down  the  stairs — noiselessly,  had  not 
two  boards  creaked.  Quite  noiselessly,  too, 
Morton  rose  and  turned  out  his  gas,  that  the 
light  might  not  be  seen  under  his  door.  At  all 
events,  the  lovers  should  never  know  they 
had  betrayed  to  him  their  secret.  Why  should 
he  drive  the  woman  he  adored  into  a  corner  like 
a  rat? 

The  footstep  stole  across  his  landing,  and 
fingers  felt  the  way  by  touching  his  door.  There 
was  a  silence,  and  then  he  heard  the  front  door 
open  and  gently  shut.  The  footsteps  went 
briskly  down  the  street.  The  man  had  evidently 
stopped  to  put  on  his  boots  at  the  bottom  of  the 
stairs  and  was  gone. 

For   a   short   time  Morton  still  heard  gentle 


102  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

movements  overhead.  They  were  in  front  of  the 
fireplace  ;  once  the  fire  was  quietly  stirred,  and 
once  two  little  slippers  in  succession  fell  on  the 
hearthrug  with  muffled  sounds.  Then  a  softer 
step  than  any  yet  trod  the  thin  carpet,  and 
there  was  no  more  sound  at  all.  The  room 
above  him  was  empty,  as  empty  as  a  soul  whose 
radiance  has  gone  out  and  left  it  dark. 

The  first  glimmering  light  of  morning,  when 
it  came  with  a  drizzling  rain  that  mopped  away 
the  fog,  found  him  still  sitting  there  motionless 
in  the  gloom.  Only  when  he  heard  Sarah 
crackling  and  creaking  in  the  passage  with  her 
dustpan  and  wood,  on  her  way  to  relight  his  fire, 
he  suddenly  sprang  up,  lit  the  gas,  and  continued 
to  add  up  the  column  of  figures  just  where  he 
had  left  off. 

"  It's  all  right,  Sarah,"  he  said  cheerily,  as  he 
heard  the  girl  gasp  at  seeing  him  there.  "  I  had 
to  get  up  early  to  finish  some  work,  because  we 
were  so  busy  yesterday." 

"  It  ain't  busy  as  I'd  call  it,"  said  Sarah.  "See 
my  kitching !  It's  me  as'll  be  busy  washin'  up 
and  doin'." 

"All  right,  Sarah,"  he  said  again,  continuing 
to  put  down  the  figures  with  unfailing  accuracy. 


SIC    VOS    NON    VOBIS  103 

"  You  shall  eat  everything  that's  left  except  what 
Miss  Mahoney  wants.  But  the  first  thing  you've 
got  to  do  is  to  put  her  room  perfectly  straight 
before  she  gets  up.  And  the  moment  her  bell 
rings  you  must  let  me  know,  and  I'll  make  up 
the  remains  of  the  pheasants  or  something 
nice." 

He  turned  back  to  his  work,  and  finished  it 
carefully  to  the  last  word,  read  it  through  again, 
checked  all  the  figures,  deliberated  over  some  of 
his  own  suggestions,  assured  himself  that  the 
article  was  good,  and  directed  it  to  the  editor. 

" She'll  want  a  lot  of  things  still,"  he  thought 
to  himself,  "and  she'll  never  know  or  think  of 
asking  where  they  come  from.  That's  so  mag- 
nificent !  She  has  no  suspiciousness  or  conceal- 
ment or  curiosity  in  her  whole  nature.  She 
takes  life  as  the  young  earth  takes  the  spring." 

It  was  nearly  twelve  before  Miss  Mahoney's 
bell  rang.  Morton  prepared  her  breakfast,  and 
took  up  the  tray  just  as  he  had  done  the  morning 
before.  As  he  entered  she  sprang  towards  him, 
looking  as  fresh  as  a  wild  rose  and  as  sweet. 
Again  she  took  his  hand  and  looked  smilingly 
straight  into  his  eyes. 

"  My  dear  comrade,"  she   said,    "how  inex- 


104  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

haustibly  kind  you  are  !  But  oh,  I  do  hope  you 
enjoyed  last  night  a  little  ?  I  thought  it  all  went 
perfectly,  quite  beautifully.  It  makes  one  happy 
to  think  of,  and  this  morning  I  am  wonderfully 
happy.  I'm  sure  all  of  us  are,  and  we  owe  it  all 
to  you — every  bit  of  it — every  bit !  " 

He  looked  again  into  the  wild  and  lovesome 
little  face  so  close  to  him. 

"  It's  very  sweet  of  you  to  say  so,"  he  answered, 
"and  I  only  wish  it  were  true." 


THE   ROSE 

(A  medifsval  Citizen  speaks) 

STEPHEN,  clerk  of  Oxford  town, 

Oh,  the  weary  while  he  lies, 
Wrapt  in  his  old  college  gown, 
Burning,  burning,  till  he  dies  ! 
And  'tis  very  surely  said, 
He  shall  burn  when  he  is  dead, 
All  aflame  from  foot  to  head. 

Stephen  said  he  knew  a  rose, 

One  and  two,  yea,  roses  three, 
Lovelier  far  than  any  those 

Which  at  service-time  we  see — 
Emblems  of  atonement  done, 
And  of  Christ's  Beloved  One, 
And  of  Mary's  mystic  Son. 

Stephen  said  his  roses  grew 

All  upon  a  milk-white  stem  ; 
Side  by  side  together  two, 
One  a  little  up  from  them. 

Sweeter  than  the  rose's  breath, 
Rosy  as  the  sun  riseth, 
Warm  beside— that  was  his  death. 
105 


106  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

Stephen  swore,  as  God  knows  well, 

Just  to  touch  that  topmost  bud, 
He  would  give  his  soul  to  hell — 
Soul  and  body,  bones  and  blood  ; 
Hell  has  come  before  he  dies, 
Burning,  burning,  there  he  lies, 
And  he  neither  speaks  nor  cries. 

Oh,  what  might  those  roses  be  ? 

Once,  before  the  dawn  was  red, 
Did  he  wander  out  to  see 
If  the  rose  were  still  a-bed  ? 
Did  he  find  a  rose  tree  tall 
Standing  by  the  silent  wall? 
Did  he  touch  the  rose  of  all  ? 

"  Stephen,  was  it  worth  the  pain, 

Just  to  touch  a  breathing  rose  ?  " 
Ah,  to  think  of  it  again, 

See,  he  smiles  amidst  his  woes  ! 
Did  he  dream  that  hell  would  be 
Years  hereafter?     Now,  you  see, 
Hell  is  here — and  where  is  she  ? 

At  my  word,  through  all  his  face 
Flames  the  infernal  fire  within  ; 
Mary,  Mary,  grant  me  grace, 
Still  to  keep  my  soul  from  sin ! 
Thanks  to  God,  my  rose  is  one 
Not  so  sweet,  but  all  my  own, 
Not  so  fair,  but  mine  alone. 


V 
GAUDEAMUS   IGITUR 

HERR  Doctor  Heinrich  Meyer,  Professor 
in  Ordinary  of  Christian  Ethics  at  the 
University  of  Jena,  woke  from  his  after-dinner 
nap,  drew  his  handkerchief  from  his  face, 
stretched  himself,  and  looked  out  of  the  window. 
It  was  New  Year's  Eve,  and  the  snow  upon  the 
high-piled  roofs  gleamed  in  the  midwinter  sun- 
set. Now  and  then  some  of  the  townspeople 
tramped  across  the  market  square,  keeping  care- 
fully to  the  brown  paths  worn  on  the  white 
surface,  and  as  they  raised  their  hats,  the  Pro- 
fessor knew  they  were  wishing  each  other  a 
blessing  upon  their  dinners. 

"Gesegnete  Mahlzeit !  "  It  was  a  blessing 
which  peculiarly  suited  his  mood.  All  morning 
he  had  been  working  peacefully  at  his  great  work 
upon  The  Development  of  the  Ideal  of  Woman- 
hood among  the  Christians  of  the  Primitive 
107 


108  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

Church,  with  special  reference  to  the  Virgin- 
Cultus  in  the  Pre  -  Christianic  Religions  of 
Ephesus,  Athens,  and  Rome.  He  had  sketched 
out  the  treatise  as  a  handbook  in  nine  volumes, 
and  was  already  far  advanced  in  the  first.  Ten 
years  was  the  time  which  he  proposed  to  devote 
to  the  undertaking,  and  he  had  begun  upon  it 
the  day  after  he  finished  his  Commentary  on  the 
Acts  of  the  Apostles,  a  work  which  had  been 
well  reviewed  by  the  Universal  Yearbook  of 
Religion  in  General,  and  had  secured  him  his 
"call"  from  Marburg,  where  he  had  been  only 
an  "extraordinary"  Professor  of  Faith-History, 
to  his  present  regular  Professorship.  He  con- 
fidently expected  that  his  new  enterprise,  which 
was  to  appear  volume  by  volume,  would  bring  a 
higher  "call" — to  Leipzig,  or  perhaps  to  Berlin 
itself — before  many  years  were  out.  "Woman," 
he  often  said  to  his  wife  with  satisfaction, 
"woman  is  a  folk-and-faculty-interesting  stuff," 
and  he  sometimes  felt  the  exhilaration  of  a 
popular  author. 

He  had  been  especially  glad  to  receive  the  call 
to  Jena,  because  he  had  spent  two  semesters 
there  as  a  student  some  ten  or  twelve  years 
before.  It  was  full  of  pleasant  memories,  the 


GAUDEAMUS    IGITUR  109 

surroundings  were  "  romantic,"  and  the  neat 
little  paths  laid  down  among  the  hills  and  pine 
forests  enabled  the  stoutest  citizen  to  wander 
from  beerhouse  to  beerhouse  without  fatigue  or 
fear  of  losing  his  way.  The  beer  was  excellent, 
the  library  large,  and  living  very  cheap.  The 
Professor  of  Christian  Ethics  had  every  reason 
to  feel  a  glow  of  comfortable  contentment  with 
himself  and  the  world.  Certainly  it  was  freezing 
cold  outside,  but  his  windows  were  double,  they 
were  never  opened  during  the  winter,  and  the 
large  white  stove  had  heated  the  study  to  a 
delicious  warmth.  The  savour  of  his  afternoon 
cigar  hung  about  the  room.  His  wife  had  given 
him  goose  with  stewed  prunes  for  dinner.  True, 
it  was  a  week  after  the  proper  festivity  of  Christ- 
mas, but  then  she  had  got  the  bird  cheaper  on 
that  account ;  and  having  led  it  home  from 
market  with  a  string  round  its  neck,  had  killed 
it  herself  in  the  back  garden,  to  the  great  delight 
of  their  two  children.  For  she  was  a  highly 
educated  and  very  efficient  woman,  having  studied 
German  literature  in  a  "Higher  Daughters' 
School "  at  Halle,  and  household  management 
in  one  of  the  best  families  of  Rechtlingshausen- 
am-Oder. 


110  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

New  Year's  Eve,  and  all  was  well  with  him  ! 
The  Professor  drew  a  deep  breath  of  stuffy  air, 
like  a  man  who  has  reached  security  and  can 
take  his  ease.  He  was  indeed  secure.  He 
liked  lecturing,  and  students  of  theology  were 
almost  bound  to  attend  his  lectures.  He  liked 
writing,  and  for  the  next  ten  years  he  could  write 
every  day  almost  without  a  check.  He  liked  his 
wife,  and  under  her  care  he  could  hope  for  good 
health,  satisfying  dinners,  cheerful  chatter  at 
meals,  and  no  extravagance.  The  children  went 
to  school  every  day,  and  gave  him  no  trouble. 
His  clothes  were  good  for  another  two  or  three 
years,  and  he  had  enough  linen  to  carry  him 
through  the  winter  months  till  the  great  wash 
in  the  spring.  As  he  reflected  on  all  these 
causes  for  thankfulness  in  turn,  he  sighed  again 
with  satisfaction,  and  a  further  sensation  of 
pleasure  stole  over  him  at  the  sound  of  four 
o'clock  striking  from  the  octagon  tower  of  the 
old  church  across  the  market-place. 

It  was  time  to  start  for  coffee.  Till  lately  the 
servant-girl  had  always  brought  it  to  his  room, 
but  since  his  rise  in  fortune  he  had  felt  justified 
in  launching  out  a  little,  and  had  gone  for  it  to 
the  Schnitzel  restaurant.  This  afternoon,  as  it 


GAUDEAMUS    IGITUR  111 

was  a  holiday,  he  had  resolved  to  mount  one 
step  higher  and  go  to  the  "  Bear  "  itself,  though 
the  coffee  was  a  penny  more,  and  the  waiter 
expected  a  halfpenny  instead  of  a  farthing. 
"  After  all,"  he  thought,  " something  is  required 
of  a  man  of  my  position.  '  Noblesse  oblige.'  " 

Wrapping  himself  up  carefully  in  overcoat, 
scarf,  and  gloves,  and  putting  on  his  goloshes, 
he  ventured  out  into  the  still,  cold  air.  Along 
the  street  nearly  all  the  passers-by  greeted  him, 
and  he  answered  with  the  friendly  good  humour 
of  a  man  who  is  conscious  of  success.  "  Good 
evening,  Herr  Professor!"  "  Prosit  Neujahr, 
Herr  Professor  !  "  "I  hope  your  dinner  is  agree- 
ing with  you,  Herr  Professor  !  "  It  was  like  the 
prelude  of  fame. 

He  stopped  at  the  "  Bear  "  with  the  dignified 
assurance  of  one  who  does  the  most  fashionable 
thing  possible,  and  was  pleased  that  a  good  many 
townspeople  were  passing  the  door  and  would 
see  him  go  in.  He  purposely  spent  a  long  time 
stamping  the  snow  off  his  goloshes,  and  at  last, 
with  a  glow  of  expectation,  he  opened  the  door 
and  entered. 

A  few  officers  with  glittering  swords  were 
seated  at  two  of  the  tables,  and  at  the  others 


112  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

some  of  the  Professor's  colleagues  were  scattered 
about,  all  eyeing  the  officers  and  basking  in  the 
reflected  glory  of  their  presence,  but  no  more 
daring  to  sit  at  the  military  tables  than  the 
townspeople  would  have  dared  to  enter  the  cafe" 
at  all.  As  a  recent  arrival  in  the  University,  the 
Professor  of  Christian  Ethics  modestly  took  his 
seat  at  the  table  nearest  the  door,  opposite  a 
solitary  man,  who  wras  staring  fixedly  at  a  huge 
glass  of  beer.  Hardly  had  he  sat  down  when  he 
saw  the  Rector  of  the  University  rise  from  the 
very  top  of  the  room,  bow  profoundly  towards 
him,  wave  his  mug  in  the  air,  at  the  same  time 
crying,  "Prosit,  Herr  Professor  Meyer!"  and 
empty  it  at  one  long  draught.  The  Professor 
rose  and  bowed.  He  was  profoundly  delighted. 
The  Rector  was  a  morphologist  whose  name  was 
famous  throughout  Europe,  and  he  received 
,£300  a  year  for  his  office.  For  a  Professor  of 
Christian  Ethics  to  be  recognised  by  such  a  man 
in  the  best  cafe"  of  the  University  was  to  stand 
on  the  summit  of  glory.  But  it  certainly  put 
him  in  a  difficulty.  He  had  come  for  coffee, 
but  to  answer  the  Rector's  greeting  in  coffee  was 
an  unimaginable  offence,  and  not  to  answer  it  at  all 
was  social  extinction.  So  he  called  for  a  liqueur 


GAUDEAMUS    IGITUR  113 

brandy  with  the  coffee.  After  all,  one  has  to 
live  up  to  one's  position,  and  his  wife  had  given 
him  a  thaler  that  morning  to  do  what  he  liked 
with.  Thanks  to  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  he 
was  above  the  reach  of  poverty  now. 

So  when  next  he  caught  the  Rector's  eye,  he 
sprang  up  with  the  words:  "  Herr  Rector,  I 
follow  you  at  once  !  "  and  he  emptied  the  golden 
little  glass.  He  had  made  a  successful  beginning 
and  looked  round  upon  the  room  with  the 
confident  benevolence  that  springs  from  self- 
applause. 

When  he  had  finished  his  leisurely  survey,  he 
glanced  across  his  own  table,  and  was  met  by  two 
keen  eyes  that  were  watching  him  with  a  whim- 
sical air  of  dubious  recognition.  As  he  looked 
the  stranger  rose  at  once  and  held  out  his  hand. 
"  Good  evening,  Heinrich,"  he  said,  "I  was 
almost  sure  it  was  you." 

The  figure  was  tall  and  gaunt ;  the  face 
deeply  lined  with  thought,  care,  and  dissipa- 
tion ;  the  hair  and  beard  already  grey.  In- 
voluntarily the  Professor  took  the  long  brown 
hand  in  his  plump  little  fingers  and  gazed  in 
astonishment. 

"  Hans  Kammerer  !  "  he  murmured  at  length, 


114  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

almost  under  his  breath.  "  Hans  Kammerer  ! 
you  here  !  " 

4  ' Certainly.  Why  not  ?  "  said  the  other,  laugh- 
ing. 

The  Professor  did  not  answer  in  words,  but  he 
could  not  avoid  one  hasty  glance  at  the  worn  and 
wrinkled  clothes.  There  was  nothing  outrageous 
about  them — nothing  even  remarkable  for  a 
German  man  of  letters — and  yet  the  Professor 
saw  at  once  that  the  man  was  a  failure  and  had 
obtained  no  recognised  position  in  the  world. 
There  was  something  happy-go-lucky  and  devil- 
may-care  about  him,  as  though  he  were  still  a 
student,  in  spite  of  his  shock  of  grey  hair. 
Perhaps  it  was  chiefly  the  large  black  necktie 
done  in  a  bow  like  a  Frenchman's.  But  whatever 
the  cause,  the  Professor  would  have  given  worlds 
to  have  sat  down  at  another  table  with  his  back 
to  this. 

4 '  Delighted  to  see  you!"  he  said,  looking 
cautiously  round.  "  Delighted  to  see  you,  I'm 
sure ! " 

Happily,  no  one  seemed  to  be  noticing  them. 
Probably,  after  all,  he  was  the  only  person 
present  who  would  remember  Hans  Kammerer, 
the  random  poet  and  general  ne'er-do-well,  who 


GAUDEAMUS    IGITUR  115 

had  borne  so  queer  a  reputation  as  a  student, 
and  evidently  had  not  improved.  If  only  this 
had  not  been  his  own  first  appearance  at  the 
"  Bear  !  "  But  there  was  no  help  for  it  now  ;  evil 
communications  do  not  corrupt  a  Professorship 
of  Christian  Ethics. 

"  Delighted  to  see  you  !  "  he  said  again. 

Kammerer  planted  both  elbows  on  the  table, 
and  looked  at  the  Professor  with  smiling  interest. 

"  So  that  is  what  Heinrich  Meyer  has  grown 
into,"  he  murmured.  "  You  seem  pretty  prosper- 
ous, Herr  Professor.  You  do  not  intrude  your 
skeleton  at  the  feast." 

"There  is  no  skeleton  in  my  cupboard,  thank 
God  !  "  said  the  Professor. 

"  Oh  no,"  said  the  other  ;  "I  only  meant  your 
own  bones.  You  are  covering  them  well  against 
the  buffets  of  the  world." 

4 'One  has  to  settle  down  in  order  to  do  any 
really  good  work,"  said  the  Professor. 

"  You  are  quite  right ;  I  admire  you  for  it.  I 
read  your  Commentary  on  the  Acts,  and  felt  sure 
that  destiny  had  marked  you  out  for  a  theological 
professorship.  When  I  came  to  Jena  to-day,  I 
quite  hoped  to  be  able  to  congratulate  you  in 
person,  and  now  I  do." 


116  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

4 'You  are  very  kind,"  said  the  Professor, 
thinking  that  his  old  fellow-student  might  not 
look  so  very  disreputable  after  all,  especially  from 
behind. 

"So  you  teach  morality  to  students,"  the  other 
went  on  reflectively. 

"  Yes  ;  my  next  course  is  to  be  a  comparison 
of  the  Aristotelian  and  Pauline  ideals  of  virtue." 

"  Excellent!  And  which  do  you  think  the 
higher  ideal  to  follow?  I  mean  which  do  you 
follow  yourself?  " 

"Oh,  my  method  is  entirely  historical,"  said 
the  Professor  with  some  condescension. 

"To  be  sure,"  answered  Kammerer  apologetic- 
ally. "And  what  is  the  really  good  work  you 
spoke  of?" 

"Oh,  that's  my  future  book — my  Handbook 
on  the  Ideal  of  Womanhood  in  the  Primitive 
Church." 

"Womanhood?  Ah  yes;  that's  a  subject 
you  know  something  about.  You're  quite  a 
specialist ! " 

"  Certainly  !  "  retorted  the  Professor  ;  "  I'm  a 
married  man." 

"  Of  course  you  are.  But  I've  been  a  married 
man  too,  and  yet  I've  never  written  a  book  on 


GAUDEAMUS    IGITUR  117 

the  Ideal  of  Womanhood.  Marriage  doesn't 
necessarily  make  one  a  specialist,  or  even  in- 
crease one's  knowledge  .much.  I  shouldn't 
have  thought  it  would  have  increased  yours 
at  all." 

He  looked  smilingly  at  the  Professor,  but  there 
was  no  responding  smile,  and  both  were  silent 
for  a  time.  Then  Kammerer  took  a  long 
draught  at  his  glass,  and  as  he  drew  breath, 
he  said  suddenly,  "  I  suppose  you  didn't  marry 
Lisbeth  by  any  chance  ?  " 

"  My  dear  fellow!"  gasped  the  Professor, 
glancing  round  involuntarily. 

"  Ah  !  I  supposed  you  didn't." 

"I  really  hardly  remember  the  circumstance 
you  refer  to,"  said  the  Professor  carelessly,  as 
though  to  close  the  subject. 

"  *  Hardly  remember '  is  good,"  laughed  Kam- 
merer. "That  is  exactly  the  right  mood  for  the 
loves  of  the  past.  One  should  hardly  remember 
them — just  a  misty  impressionist  sketch  of  a  red 
mouth,  a  row  of  teeth — like  sheep,  as  Solomon 
said — a  soft  word,  a  soft  touch,  all  entangled  in 
a  whirl  of  hair — golden  hair,  black  hair,  brown 
hair,  flaming  hair,  as  the  case  may  be.  Lis- 
beth's  was  gold,  pure  gold,  so  brilliant  that 


118  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

the  sun  himself  mistook  it  for  sunshine.  I, 
too,  hardly  remember  Lisbeth,  but  it  was  gold, 
pure  gold." 

"I  really  do  not  see  any  purpose  in  recalling 
the  episode,"  said  the  Professor,  staring  vacantly 
down  the  room  and  wondering  whether  the 
officers  were  listening. 

"Oh,  no  purpose  at  all,  beyond  the  pleasures 
of  memory,"  said  Kammerer.  "  How  I  used  to 
laugh  !  You,  so  cautious  and  demure,  suddenly 
risking  your  degree  for  a  little  bit  of  a  creature 
with  a  pathetic  face,  innocent  eyes,  and  hair  all 
gold  !  Ah,  do  you  think  I  didn't  envy  you  those 
twin  roses  which  fed  among  the  lilies  ?  You  see, 
like  Mephisto,  I  am  rather  fond  of  quoting 
Solomon.  In  his  more  charming  moments  he 
was  a  poet  so  much  like  myself.  Yes,  I  envied 
you ;  I  almost  burst  my  liver  with  envy,  as 
Horace  puts  it.  Did  I  ever  tell  you  that  once, 
just  once,  before  you  came  upon  the  scene,  she 
kissed  me  ?  Yes ;  it  seems  incredible,  but,  as 
Goethe  said,  so  does  the  rose,  so  does  the 
nightingale.  Of  course,  as  soon  as  your  solemn 
face  appeared,  it  was  no  good.  That's  where 
you  deserving  fellows  get  such  a  pull  over  us 
poor  devils.  Kiss  me — oh,  how  dark  and 


GAUDEAMUS    IGITUR  119 

strange  and  sinful  she  thought  it !  But  you  ! 
Why  she  looked  for  no  more  harm  from  you 
than  from  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  !  I  wonder 
what  has  become  of  her  now." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  how  should  I  possibly 
know?"  said  the  Professor  irritably.  "She  is 
probably  the  mother  of  a  promising  family  by 
this  time.  By  the  way,  did  I  tell  you  I  have  two 
children  myself?  " 

"Only  two?"  said  Kammerer.  "Well,  I 
suppose  she  has  gone  the  way  of  most  girls  with 
a  heart  like  hers.  She  isn't  the  first,  as  my  dear 
Mephisto  said.  But  it  seems  rather  a  pity.  Her 
soul  was  one  sweet  Volkslied — all  violets  and 
moonlight,  and  the  beat  of  a  wild  swan's  wing. 
Not  once  in  a  hundred  years  is  the  living  spirit 
of  our  foolish  old  German  romance  so  incarnated. 
Such  a  pathetic  little  face  ! — not  sorrowful,  but 
as  though  prepared  for  sorrow,  just  as  her  heart 
was  prepared  for  all  the  illusions  of  love.  It 
would  be  interesting  to  watch  the  course  of  a 
soul  like  that  as  it  approaches  middle  age.  Of 
course  it  must  die.  Whether  its  body  goes  on 
living  or  not,  the  original  soul  must  die.  The 
interesting  point  would  be  to  discover  the  exact 
moment  when  it  could  be  called  quite  dead — 


120  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

dead  past  revival.  Happily  the  murder  of  a  soul 
is  not  a  criminal  offence.  It  is,  indeed,  very 
often  difficult  to  distinguish  between  its  murder 
and  its  education.  Let  us  hope  that  Lisbeth's 
experience  has  been  educational." 

"  I  intend  to  publish  my  book  volume  by 
volume,"  said  the  Professor,  after  a  pause.  "  Of 
course  there  are  objections.  The  form  of  the 
completed  work  will  perhaps  not  be  so  plastic  in 
its  presentment,  and  there  are  minor  difficulties 
of  arrangement  and  indexing.  But  I  think  it  is 
better  to  retain  the  attention  of  the  public  over 
a  considerable  period  of  time  than  to  become 
suddenly  famous  in  middle  life." 

"Oh,  does  it  matter?"  said  Kammerer,  with 
a  yawn.  "Look  here,  Heinrich,  my  boy,  I'll 
tell  you  what  we'll  do.  We'll  walk  out  to  the 
old  Mill  Tavern,  along  the  Apolda  Road,  and 
sun  our  sleepy  maturity  in  the  memories  of 
youth.  To  stand  with  you  sentimentalising  over 
Lisbeth's  empty  home  would  be  worth  a  poem  to 
me.  Besides,  there's  no  such  white  beer  on  the 
terraqueous  globe.  The  high-pitched  roof,  the 
ancient  linden — how  idyllic  it  all  was  !  Do  you 
remember  the  bowling-alley,  and  how  Lisbeth 
would  cry,  '  Bravo,  Herr  Heinrich  ! '  when  you 


GAUDEAMUS    IGITUR  121 

knocked  a  ninepin  over  by  accident?  My  word  ! 
we  all  said  '  Bravo,  Herr  Heinrich  ! '  before  very 
long.  What  do  you  say,  Herr  Professor?  I 
should  think  it  wouldn't  do  you  any  harm  to 
walk  a  mile." 

The  Professor's  mind  was  torn  by  distracting 
fears  and  desires  at  the  proposal.  He  was 
physically  very  comfortable.  The  air  in  the  cafe 
had  reached  the  temperature  that  he  enjoyed. 
He  was  only  a  quarter  way  through  his  second 
cigar,  and  the  liqueur  was  working  with  a  warm 
and  imaginative  stimulation  upon  his  brain.  He 
was  also  very  reluctant  to  leave  the  cafe  so  soon, 
because  he  could  not  afford  to  come  very  often, 
and  to-night  there  was  a  good  chance  of  being 
seen  there  by  all  the  leading  people  of  the  Uni- 
versity, and  perhaps  by  a  few  students  from  the 
best  fighting  corps. 

But  what  would  they  all  think  of  his  com- 
panion ?  Kammerer,  with  his  wild  eyes  and 
rough  hair,  was  a  rather  spectral  object ;  he  was 
like  a  ghost  from  the  old-fashioned,  dreamy 
times  before  Germany  grew  scientific  and  ma- 
terialised. His  voice,  though  low,  was  singu- 
larly penetrating,  and  he  really  seemed  incapable 
of  discussing  any  subject  but  one.  Certainly 


122  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

it  was  rather  pleasant  to  think  of  one's  own  past 
success  and  to  be  an  object  of  envy  to  a  man 
like  the  poet.  But  the  revival  of  that  ancient 
episode  might  be  rather  inconvenient  to  a  Pro- 
fessor of  Christian  Ethics  in  so  small  a  town. 
After  all,  therefore,  it  would  be  safer  to  sacrifice 
an  hour's  enjoyment  to  future  security.  It  was 
often  safer  to  do  that,  he  had  found.  Besides, 
he  rather  liked  the  idea  of  going  to  brood  over 
the  scene  of  that  brief  and  distant  passion.  The 
conversation  and  liqueur  had  revived  strange 
feelings  and  memories  of  certain  things  that  he 
never  dared  to  think  of  now. 

"All  right,"  he  said  at  last,  "we'll  go  for  a 
walk  if  you  like.  I  find  walking  very  healthy, 
and  it  will  give  us  an  appetite  for  supper." 

That  they  might  not  seem  to  be  going  out  in 
company,  he  stopped  to  exchange  a  few  words 
with  another  professor,  and  then  after  a  deep 
bow  to  the  Rector  he  followed  Kammerer  into 
the  frosty  air. 

Under  the  brilliant  half-moon,  the  ancient 
town  looked  like  a  mediaeval  dream.  The  ground 
and  roofs  gleamed  with  bluish  white,  and  like  a 
bluish  ghost  the  church  tower  rose  high  above 
the  gables.  Here  and  there  a  lattice  window 


GAUDEAMUS    IGITUR  123 

reflected  the  moon,  even  the  snow  crystals  shone 
blue  in  her  light,  and  in  the  intense  cold  they 
crunched  together  underfoot  with  a  sound  like 
the  leather  on  a  new  saddle.  The  cafes  and 
beershops  round  the  market-place  cast  an  orange 
glow  from  their  windows,  and  in  the  midst  of  the 
square  the  students  were  putting  the  finishing 
touches  to  the  great  bonfire  that  was  to  be  lighted 
soon.  Already  here  and  there  rose  the  New 
Year  song  of  "  Gaudeamus." 

"Youth — irredeemable  youth — how  freshly  it 
still  goes  on,"  said  Kammerer,  as  they  turned 
out  of  the  square  down  a  lane  so  narrow  and 
dark  that  they  had  almost  to  feel  their  way. 
"  Nature  is  at  her  old,  old  game  :  illusion,  birth, 
death  —  birth,  illusion,  death — those  are  the 
chimes  she  rings,  and  they  always  end  upon  the 
deep-toned  bell." 

"  I  really  feel  quite  poetically  inclined  myself, 
to-night,"  said  the  Professor.  "I  seem  like 
Goethe  going  back  to  Sesenheim  after  all  those 
years." 

"  Exactly  like,  I  should  think,"  said  Kam- 
merer. "  How  touching  it  will  be  if  we  find 
Lisbeth  sitting  in  the  old  familiar  place,  and  she 
exclaims,  'The  heart  that  has  loved  Heinrich 


124  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

Meyer  could  love  no  one  else  ! '  In  a  woman  all 
things  are  possible." 

Just  then,  as  they  were  picking  their  way  pain- 
fully along  the  narrow  track  worn  upon  the 
snow,  they  saw  someone  walking  in  front  of 
them. 

"  A  woman  !  "  whispered  Kammerer,  "a  young 
woman  too  !  Forgive  me,  old  man,  but  I  never 
pass  a  young  woman  in  the  street  at  night  without 
speaking  to  her.  It  seems  so  unflattering  and 
ungrateful." 

He  hurried  on,  and  as  he  drew  close  to  the 
woman  he  said  softly,  "Good  evening,  mistress 
mine,  may  we  see  you  safely  to  your  threshold's 
door?" 

"Certainly,  if  you  like,"  she  answered  bluntly. 
"You  won't  have  far  to  go." 

"  It's  a  cold  night  for  girls  to  be  walking  about 
alone,"  he  said.  "Two  are  warmer  than  one." 

"Freezing  cold,"  she  answered,  "but  I'm  not 
a  girl." 

"A  charming  woman  then,  and  of  just  the 
most  attractive  age,"  he  said,  going  to  her  side 
with  a  sweeping  bow.  "Allow  me,  gracious 
lady,  to  have  the  honour  of  carrying  your 
basket." 


GAUDEAMUS    IGITUR  125 

"  Bah  !  What  swinery  !  "  she  said,  and  turned 
sharply  up  a  flight  of  steps  into  a  dark  doorway. 

"  Beauteous  but  cruel  lady,"  Kammerer  con- 
tinued in  the  same  laughing  tone,  "you  cannot 
leave  us  thus  !  You  will  permit  us  at  least  to 
accompany  you  to  the  inner  gateway  of  your 
romantic  chamber?" 

"Certainly,  if  you  like,"  said  the  woman 
again,  laughing  aloud  from  somewhere  in  the 
darkness. 

"My  dear  fellow,  do  come  on,"  said  the  Pro- 
fessor. "Just  think  if  a  man  of  my  position 
were  found  in  such  a  situation  ! " 

"  Unhappily  for  me,  I  have  no  position,"  Kam- 
merer answered.  "That  woman  fascinates  me. 
She  has  what  you  professors  call  the  genuine 
Germanity.  How  downright  her  answers  are  ! 
I  seem  to  see  her  yellow  hair  reaching  down, 
goodness  knows  how  far,  and  under  that  big 
cloak  is  a  superbly  moulded  figure,  like  the 
Niederwald  Germania  in  little  !  You  go  on,  if 
you  like.  To  me  this  sort  of  adventure  is  a 
psychical  necessity." 

The  woman's  footsteps  could  be  heard  tramp- 
ing steadily  up  the  wooden  stairs,  and  Kammerer 
groped  his  way  in  the  darkness  after  her.  The 


126  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

Professor  hesitated  and  looked  stealthily  round. 
Then  he  followed  them. 

"  After  all,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "a  student 
of  ethics  should  make  himself  acquainted  with 
every  form  of  life." 

He  made  what  haste  he  could  in  the  dark  for 
fear  of  people  coming  out  from  the  other  floors 
and  finding  him  there.  But  as  he  began  the 
fifth  staircase,  the  footsteps  of  the  two  in  front 
of  him  stopped.  It  was  evidently  the  attic  story 
and  they  could  go  no  higher.  He  heard  a  hard 
and  scornful  little  laugh,  and  a  woman's  voice 
said,  "Oh,  heavens,  what  a  joke !  Two  fine 
gentlemen  in  pursuit  of  me  !  " 

The  bitter  laugh  came  again,  and  then,  as  the 
Professor  arrived  panting  on  the  landing,  the 
voice  said  mockingly,  "  Hope  you're,  fond  of 
climbing,  sir  !  I've  got  my  key.  If  one  of  you 
gentlemen  would  kindly  strike  a  match,  I  won't 
waste  time  fumbling  about.  Gentlemen  are 
always  so  impatient." 

There  was  a  long  sputter  of  little  blue  flames 
that  showed  three  figures  standing  like  ghosts 
amid  a  horrible  smell  of  sulphur.  Then,  as  the 
light  turned  orange,  Kammerer  held  it  up  for  a 
moment,  and  instantly  dropped  it. 


GAUDEAMUS    IGITUR  127 

"  That  was  clumsy  of  you,  sir,"  said  the 
woman,  trying  to  find  the  keyhole. 

"  Lisbeth  !  "  said  Kammerer.  All  three  were 
silent.  With  his  hands  behind  him  the  Professor 
began  to  feel  his  way  backwards  along  the  wall 
to  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

"Well,  yes,"  said  the  woman  at  last,  "that  is 
my  name.  How  did  you  know  me  ?  " 

"I  used  to  be  Hans  Kammerer." 

"  Herr  Hans,  the  poet!"  she  cried,  laughing 
again.  "And  who  is  the  stout  gentleman  with 
you?" 

Kammerer  struck  another  match.  The  soft 
blue  flames  and  then  the  orange  light  showed 
the  Professor  eyeing  her  sideways,  with  his  back 
against  the  wall,  and  one  foot  down  the  stairs. 
They  looked  at  each  other  while  the  match 
burnt  on. 

"Don't  run  away,  Herr  Professor,"  she  said 
quietly  as  it  went  out.  "I  heard  of  your 
appointment  some  time  ago,  and  supposed  I 
should  meet  you  sooner  or  later,  but  I  never 
dreamt  it  was  two  such  old  friends  following  me 
up  here.  What  a  glorious  joke  !  " 

"God  Himself  could  hardly  improve  it,"  said 
Kammerer. 


128  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"Why,  Herr  Hans!"  she  cried,  laughing 
again,  "you  don't  even  know  what  it  is  yet. 
One  more  match,  please.  Here  we  stand 
chattering  and  wasting  time  when  my  poor 
husband  ought  to  be  having  his  medicine." 

"  Your  husband  !  "  said  Kammerer. 

"Certainly,"  she  answered,  stooping  to  find 
the  keyhole;  "that's  the  joke!" 

"You  see,"  she  went  on  as  she  turned  the 
lock,  "he's  too  ill  to  move,  so  I  have  to  lock  the 
door  when  I  go  out,  for  fear  of  the  children  fall- 
ing downstairs." 

She  pushed  the  door  gently  open.  "  Come  in, 
Herr  Hans,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "Please 
come  in,  Herr  Professor.  It's  so  good  of  you 
both  to  visit  my  poor  husband  when  he's  so  ill." 

So  they  entered.  The  sloping  roof  and  bitter 
air  showed  there  was  nothing  but  thin  slates  and 
plaster  between  the  tiny  room  and  the  stars.  In 
one  corner  a  little  iron  stove  smouldered  without 
giving  warmth.  On  a  little  bare  table  a  burning 
wick  supported  by  corks  upon  a  surface  of  oil  in 
a  tumbler  threw  a  dim  light  around.  Scraps  and 
bandages  of  linen,  stiff  with  frost,  hung  on  strings 
stretched  across  the  room  and  gave  out  the  sour 
smell  of  babies.  Nearly  the  whole  surface  of  the 


GAUDEAMUS    IGITUR  129 

floor  was  taken  up  by  two  beds  and  a  common 
deal  cupboard  such  as  German  workwomen  use 
for  clothes.  Stretched  on  his  back  upon  the 
larger  bed  lay  a  middle-aged  man,  evidently  in  the 
extremity  of  illness.  His  half-closed  eyes  showed 
only  the  white.  His  deeply  lined  and  rugged 
face  was  wasted  away,  and  the  deadly  pallor 
underlying  the  sunburnt  skin  had  turned  it  green. 
The  hairy  and  knotted  hands,  too  begrimed  ever 
to  be  clean  again,  clutched  the  grey  blanket  to 
his  throat,  and  each  difficult  breath  sounded 
through  the  room  like  a  groan. 

Nestling  against  the  warmth  of  his  body  on 
one  side  lay  a  golden-haired  child  of  about  four 
years  old,  fast  asleep.  On  the  other  side,  a  baby 
of  four  or  five  months  was  amusing  itself  by 
staring  at  the  light  and  blowing  a  series  of  frothy 
little  bubbles  from  its  mouth. 

"  Please  come  right  in  and  shut  the  door, 
Herr  Professor,"  said  the  woman.  "We  must 
keep  the  cold  out." 

The  Professor  came  forward  awkwardly,  and 
in  ducking  his  head  under  the  baby-linen  that 
hung  across  the  room,  he  stumbled  against 
something  beside  the  other  bed,  and  there  was  a 
sharp  little  cry. 


130  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  I'm  sure,"  he  said,  look- 
ing down  in  the  dim  light. 

"  Stand  up  at  once,  Heinrich,  and  make  a 
bow  to  the  gentleman,"  said  the  mother.  "  Now 
stop  crying,  or  I'll  smack  you." 

A  rough-headed,  ungainly  boy  of  eleven  rose 
from  the  edge  of  the  bed,  sobbing  quietly  and 
rubbing  his  eyes  with  the  back  of  his  hand.  He 
had  evidently  been  undressing,  for  he  stood  only 
in  a  patched  and  torn  shirt,  and  the  Professor 
had  trodden  on  his  naked  feet  with  a  wet  and 
gritty  boot. 

"  Now  stop  that  noise,"  said  the  mother,  "and 
get  into  bed  with  Lisbeth,  or  you'll  wake  your 
father  up." 

Sniffing  unhappily  the  boy  slid  under  the  bed- 
clothes, shirt  and  all,  and  lay  down  with  chatter- 
ing teeth  beside  a  sleeping  girl  some  two  or  three 
years  younger. 

After  one  look,  the  Professor  kept  his  eyes 
resolutely  turned  away  from  him. 

" There  !  I  knew  how  it  would  be,"  said  the 
woman  again;  " you've  waked  your  father  up, 
you  naughty  boy." 

And  indeed  the  half-unconscious  figure  under 
the  grey  blanket  was  beginning  to  groan  more 


GAUDEAMUS    IGITUR  131 

loudly,  and  his  limbs  could  be  seen  feebly 
moving. 

"  He  seems  very  ill,"  said  Kammerer  in  a 
whisper. 

"Yes,"  said  the  woman,  with  ever  so  little  a 
tremble  in  her  voice;  "the  doctor  says  he'll 
probably  die  to-morrow  or  next  day,  poor  boy. 
But  if  we  could  scrape  him  through  to  the  end 
of  the  week,  he  might  recover  and  be  at  work 
again  when  the  frost  goes." 

"What  was  his  trade  ?  "  asked  Kammerer. 

"Oh,  he  works  on  the  railway — fifteen  shil- 
lings a  week.  In  two  years  he  hopes  to  be 
making  twenty.  He's  a  good  enough  work- 
man— hardly  ever  drinks.  But  he  has  got 
a  weak  chest,  and  now  it  has  turned  to  con- 
sumption." 

The  two  men  stood  silent,  watching  the  gasp- 
ing face,  almost  as  shrunken  and  inexpressive  as 
if  it  were  dead  already. 

"Yes,"  the  woman  went  on,  "the  doctor  says 
he'll  probably  die  to-morrow  or  next  day.  Oh, 
one  needn't  mind  saying  it ;  he  can't  understand 
a  single  word.  But  we're  going  to  pull  you 
through,  aren't  we,  old  cock  ?  " 

She   bent   over   the  bed   and   scrutinised    her 


132  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

husband  with  the  practical  interest  of  a  hospital 
nurse.  For  the  first  time  the  Professor  could 
look  at  her  closely.  Her  forehead  and  cheeks 
were  marked  with  wrinkles  of  care  and  hard 
work.  The  once  tender,  yielding  little  mouth  was 
now  a  firmly  closed  straight  line.  The  pathetic 
blue  eyes  were  greenish  grey  and  indifferent 
as  stone.  The  little  hands  that  had  caressed 
him  were  broad  and  hard  and  chapped.  The 
tender  form  that  had  been  so  close,  so  close 
against  his  heart,  was  meagre  and  shapeless  now. 
The  coarse  brown  skirt  and  bodice,  much  worn 
at  the  breast  and  gaping  down  the  line  of  hooks, 
hung  awkwardly  upon  it,  and  underneath  the 
dress  there  evidently  was  not  much  to  keep 
her  warm.  But  for  Kammerer,  should  he 
have  known  her  at  all  ?  He  was  not  sure. 
He  would  certainly  have  passed  her  without 
notice  in  the  street ;  perhaps  he  had  passed  her 
often.  Only  her  eyebrows — a  peculiar,  plaintive 
little  frown  they  had — only  that  remained  the 
same. 

He  was  filled  with  angry  disgust  at  his  former 
folly,  and  his  disgust  extended  to  the  common- 
place woman  who  had  been  its  cause.  So  this 
was  the  favour  to  which  the  sentimental  passion 


GAUDEAMUS    IGITUR  133 

came  ! — the  worn-out  body,  the  dreary  toil, 
the  deadened  brain,  the  flopping  baby-linen 
hung  to  dry. 

"  Would  you  just  catch  hold  of  his  head  and 
lift  him  up  a  bit,  Herr  Hans?"  said  Lisbeth. 
"I'll  try  to  get  some  of  the  medicine  down 
him." 

Forcing  the  fingers  of  one  hand  between  the 
sick  man's  teeth,  she  thrust  the  spoon  into  his 
mouth  with  the  other,  and  then  held  his  jaws 
tightly  closed  till  he  was  obliged  to  swallow,  just 
as  one  gives  a  pill  to  a  dog. 

"That's  all  right,"  she  said,  as  she  saw  the 
lump  in  the  sinewy  neck  rise  and  fall.  "  Now 
we'll  give  him  some  warm  milk  and  cognac,  and 
rub  his  chest  with  spirit  of  mustard.  Perhaps 
you  wouldn't  mind  beginning  on  his  chest  while 
I  get  the  milk  ready.  Here's  the  bottle.  Heaven 
and  earth,  it's  nearly  empty  !  I  shall  want  some 
more  first  thing  to-morrow,  and  it's  so  dear ! 
Now  be  careful  how  you  turn  the  clothes  down, 
so  as  not  to  disturb  the  baby." 

Kammerer  tried  to  bare  the  man's  chest  as 
delicately  as  though  he  were  performing  a  surgi- 
cal operation,  but  all  his  care  was  useless.  Feel- 
ing the  cold  air  and  seeing  a  strange  face,  the 


134  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

baby  turned  from  pink  to  purple  and  set  up  a 
lamentable  cry. 

"  Devil  take  the  child  !  "  muttered  the  woman. 
11  Here,  let  me  come  to  him.  He  wants  seeing 
to,  and  perhaps  he's  hungry  as  well.  It's  near 
his  time.  I'll  just  take  him  into  the  kitchen  if 
you'll  go  on  with  the  rubbing." 

She  whipped  up  the  yelling  baby  under  one 
arm,  and  choosing  some  fairly  dry  linen  from 
the  string,  went  off  into  a  dark  little  room 
beyond. 

The  two  men  said  nothing  to  each  other  after 
she  had  gone.  The  Professor  was  standing 
helpless  and  motionless  between  the  two  beds  ; 
his  eyes  still  carefully  turned  away  from  the  bed 
where  the  boy  was  lying.  Like  the  spectator  of 
some  distant  and  unintelligible  scene,  he  watched 
Kammerer  warm  his  hands  at  the  smouldering 
stove,  pour  a  little  spirit  on  them,  and  begin  to 
rub  the  sick  man's  hairy  chest.  In  the  kitchen 
the  baby  had  suddenly  become  still,  but  for  a 
few  little  grunts  of  contentment.  Everyone 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  Professor's  exist- 
ence, and  as  the  minutes  went  slowly  by  he  only 
longed  to  get  away  from  so  unpleasant  an 
experience. 


GAUDEAMUS    IGITUR  135 

"  I  think  I'll  be  going  now,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  What  !  leave  me  alone  with  Lisbeth  !  " 
Kammerer  answered  with  ironic  horror.  "  It's 
true,"  he  continued,  laughing  and  looking  round 
the  room — "it's  true  we  shouldn't  be  exactly 
alone,  seeing  that  there'd  be  seven  of  us  all 
told." 

Just  then  the  woman  came  back  again  with 
the  baby  into  the  obscure  light,  her  dress  still 
unhooked  down  the  front. 

"  I'm  wondering  where  you  sleep  yourself, 
Madam  Lisbeth,"  said  Kammerer,  looking  up 
from  his  rubbing. 

"  Oh,  don't  ask  me,"  she  answered.  "On 
the  chair,  on  the  floor,  in  the  kitchen,  wherever 
I  can.  But  I've  not  much  time  for  such  things 
as  sleeping.  All  I've  got  to  think  about  is  how 
to  feed  the  children  and  keep  my  man  alive. 
What's  to  become  of  us  if  he  dies  now  ?  They 
won't  let  Heinrich  leave  school  yet,  and,  besides, 
he's  too  small  to  bring  in  much  wages.  He's 
going  to  one  of  the  factories  at  Apolda  the 
moment  he's  old  enough." 

The  boy,  excited  by  the  presence  of  two 
grown-up  strangers,  was  lying  awake  listening 
and  staring  from  one  to  the  other  with  dreamy 


136  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

grey  eyes.  He  knew  the  factory  was  his  destiny, 
and  it  did  not  seem  strange. 

" There,  that's  all  I'm  up  to  now,"  said 
Kammerer,  carefully  closing  the  sick  man's  shirt 
and  drawing  up  the  blanket  over  him  and  the 
little  ones.  "  Besides,  the  spirit  has  run  out." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that  !  "  cried  the  woman  de- 
spairingly. "The  doctor  told  me  it  was  so  im- 
portant. Do  you  think  the  old  boy  will  do  till 
morning  ?  He  does  seem  easier,  doesn't  he  ? 
And  then  I'll  spring  over  and  get  some  more. 
But  it's  dear — everything's  dear  !  " 

The  Professor  drew  the  two  shillings  change 
out  of  his  thaler  quietly  from  his  pocket  and  laid 
it  on  the  table  unobserved. 

The  sick  man's  sighs  certainly  came  more 
gently  now.  He  seemed  to  be  passing  from 
vague  unconsciousness  into  ordinary  sleep.  The 
baby  and  the  two  little  girls  were  asleep  as  well, 
and  the  whole  room  was  full  of  quiet  breathings. 
The  eldest  boy  alone  kept  awake,  with  eyes  that 
followed  every  movement  of  the  strangers. 

"  We  had  better  say  good  night  now," 
whispered  Kammerer,  after  they  had  stood  for 
a  while  in  silence  watching  the  blind  struggle  of 
a  living  thing  against  death. 


GAUDEAMUS    IGITUR  137 

"Good  night,  Herr  Hans,"  whispered  the 
woman.  "Who  would  have  thought  of  seeing 
you  again?  I'm  sorry  I  gave  you  such  a  dis- 
appointment. There,  don't  protest,  please  !  I 
know  all  about  it.  I  know  what  men  are." 

She  gave  him  her  hand  with  ever  so  little  a 
smile.  Then  turning  to  the  other,  she  said, 
"Good  night,  Herr  Professor." 

"Good  night,"  said  the  Professor,  bowing 
awkwardly  in  the  doorway. 

They  went  out,  she  holding  the  light  to  show 
them  the  dim  outline  of  the  stairs. 

"Mother,"  said  the  boy  when  she  returned, 
"was  that  fat  gentleman  some  kind  of  an  angel ? 
He  has  left  two  shillings  on  the  table." 

She  looked  for  a  moment  at  the  boy's  dreamy 
grey  eyes  and  sensitive  face  ;  then  seizing  the 
money,  she  sprang  to  the  window  and  threw  it 
open.  Outside  the  night  was  black  under  the 
freezing  stars.  In  the  very  act  of  flinging  the 
money  into  the  invisible  street  she  paused  and 
looked  at  it  hungrily  again.  She  turned  her 
eyes  to  the  dim  and  miserable  room.  Slowly 
she  shut  the  window  to,  took  a  worn  old  purse 
from  her  pocket,  and  put  the  two  shillings  care- 
fully there. 


138  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

On  reaching  the  pure  air  outside  the  Professor 
looked  up  at  the  open  sky  with  pleasurable  relief. 
His  heart  was  aglow  with  generosity  and  good 
feeling,  and  he  felt  the  tender  joy  of  a  soft  and 
conciliatory  mood.  He  was  ready  even  to  for- 
give Kammerer  for  having  caused  him  that 
horrible  moment  on  the  stairs,  and  forced  him 
into  that  squalid  scene.  Turning  to  his  friend 
with  a  genial  smile,  he  said — 

"  You  see  your  fears  were  entirely  groundless. 
The  girl  is  respectably  married,  and  the  memory 
of  the  past  doesn't  give  her  a  moment's  anxiety. 
I  confess  I  am  relieved,  though  of  course  no 
one  would  be  so  foolish  as  to  allow  a  youthful 
freak  to  weigh  upon  his  mind  for  any  length  of 
time.  Still,  one  would  not  willingly  have  brought 
harm  upon  anyone,  and  I  owe  you  a  debt — a 
considerable  debt — for  the  discovery  that  all  is 
well.  The  husband,  I  feel  certain,  will  soon 
get  better  and  go  to  work  again.  My  wife  shall 
send  them  over  some  soup.  But  stop  a  moment 
— perhaps  the  soup  would  come  better  from  a 
restaurant ;  I  mean  it  would  be  fresher  and 
warmer,  though  not  so  cheap,  of  course." 

"It  isn't  often  things  work  out  so  satisfac- 
torily," said  Kammerer.  "I  congratulate  you 


GAUDEAMUS    IGITUR  139 

with  all  my  heart.  After  all,  you  were  the  girl's 
true  benefactor — gave  her  just  that  one  splash 
of  crimson  romance  in  an  existence  of  dirty 
greys." 

"Oh,  I  won't  claim  any  particular  credit  for 
anything  I  did,"  answered  the  Professor,  hesi- 
tating at  the  end  of  the  alley.  "  But  it's  no 
good  going  on  to  the  mill  now,  is  it?  Let's 
have  another  glass  somewhere,  and  then  to 
work  !  " 

"  No,  thanks,"  said  Hans;  "I'm  going  to 
join  the  students  at  the  bonfire  and  dance  a 
melancholy  joy  into  my  old  bones." 

They  parted,  and  from  his  study  window,  with 
his  wife  and  children  at  his  side,  the  Professor 
watched  the  flames  kindle  and  shoot  into  the 
air,  while  round  the  blaze,  which  threw  a  happy 
red  upon  all  faces,  the  students  leapt  with  linked 
arms  and  hands  tightly  clasped,  singing  their 
immemorial  New  Year  song — 

"Gaudeamus  igitur, 
Juvenes  dum  sumus." 

A  profound  and  gentle  peace  pervaded  the 
Professor's  heart,  and  he  placed  one  arm  lightly 
round  his  wife's  substantial  figure,  while  with  the 


140  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

other  hand  he  stroked  his  children's  close-cropped 
heads.  At  last  he  sent  them  away  to  get  supper 
ready,  and  as  he  settled  down  to  continue  his 
chapter  upon  "The  Ideal  of  Womanhood,  as 
expressed  in  the  many-breasted  but  apparently 
virgin  Artemis  of  Ephesus,  and  her  possible 
connection  with  the  Shiva  of  the  Brahministic 
Aryans,"  he  murmured  happily  to  himself,  "I 
do  not  deny  the  charm  of  youthful  pleasures,  but 
after  all,  there  is  nothing  keeps  life  so  sweet  and 
wholesome  as  toiling  in  some  high  cause  for  the 
sake  of  humanity  at  large." 

About  the  same  time  as  he  made  this  reflection, 
while  the  smell  of  supper  began  to  creep  under 
his  door,  the  woman  who  had  once  formed  an 
episode  in  his  life  was  staring  vacantly  at  her 
sick  husband,  while  torturing  pictures  of  the  past 
melted  into  each  other  behind  her  eyes.  Suddenly 
she  heard  a  soft  footstep  on  the  stairs,  there  was 
a  gentle  tap  at  the  door,  and  Hans  Kammerer 
stood  there  again. 

"I've  only  brought  you  that  spirit  you  wanted," 
he  said,  laughing.  "  I  sometimes  think  it's  just 
worth  while  to  keep  a  youngish  man  alive.  And 
now  I'll  go,  unless  you've  got  anything  for  me 
to  do." 


GAUDEAMUS    IGITUR  141 

But  he  did  not  go.  Hour  after  hour  he  re- 
mained watching  alone  between  the  wretched 
beds,  and  if  the  children  woke  he  soothed  them 
to  sleep  again  with  comfortable  words.  When 
all  was  still  he  crept  noiselessly  into  the  half 
darkness  of  the  kitchen,  and  crouching  beside 
the  hassock  which  was  Lisbeth's  pillow,  he  drew 
the  rough  bit  of  carpet  tenderly  over  her,  and 
smoothed  her  wild  mass  of  faded  and  colourless 
hair. 

"Gold,  pure  gold  it  was,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. 

Once  her  hand  touched  his,  and  she  murmured, 
1 '  So  tired,  mother,  so  tired — so  happy — sleep 
and  sleep." 

"  How  ridiculous  that  you  should  have  children, 
poor  child,"  he  said,  "and  no  one  to  comfort 
you  yourself." 

Once  she  woke,  and  laying  her  face  between 
his  knees  as  he  sat  beside  her,  she  cried  with  low 
and  passionate  sobs  as  though  she  could  never 
stop. 

"I  wonder,"  he  thought,  as  in  silence  he 
soothed  her  with  his  hand,  "I  wonder  at  what 
exact  moment  a  soul  may  fairly  be  called  dead. 
This  woman  here — she  is  just  the  same  as 


142  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

when   I    loved    her.      That   is  the  saddest  joke 
of  all." 

Gradually  she  slept  again,  and  for  fear  of 
waking  her  he  never  moved  her  resting-place  till 
the  deep  church  bells  began  to  sound  in  the  cold 
darkness  of  the  New  Year's  morning. 


THE    PALIMPSEST 

A  DIRTY,  mouldering1  parchment  page, 
Thumbed  brown  by  many  a  generation 
Of  starveling  monks,  and  thin  with  age 
As  a  decaying  skeleton  leaf, 
With  no  trace  left  of  the  exultation 
That  made  the  springtide  laugh.     We  look 
At  the  close,  black  lines  with  pitying  grief 
For  those  who  wrote  the  book. 

No  doubt  the  Latin  tells  a  story 

No  mortal  man  now  cares  to  read, 

How  some  wan  saint  found  death  and  glory 

By  spitting  at  a  pagan  god, 

Or  with  the  desert  beasts  did  feed, 

Unshorn,  unwashed,  from  year  to  year, 

Or  rolled  upon  the  frozen  sod 

To  thwart  a  demon's  leer. 

Or  haply  'tis  some  learned  work 
Of  old  Aquinas — "great  dumb  ox " — 
To  whom  his  brothers,  as  a  quirk, 
Sent  a  light  lady  fair  to  view, 
With  scanty  clothing  save  her  locks, 
To  intercept  his  speculation  ; 
But  he  with  torch  consigned  her  to 
Her  proper  destination, 


144  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

And  turned  him  round  again  to  think 
If  essences  have  real  existence, 
And  wrote  the  problem  out  in  ink 
On  any  parchment  that  was  nearest, 
Just  smiling-  in  his  mid  persistence 
To  see  the  devil  doubly  routed, 
In  part  by  argument  the  clearest 
That  ever  devil  doubted, 

And  partly  that  his  stroke  destroyed, 
As  swift  and  sure  as  Michael's  sword, 
A  subtle  wile  the  fiend  employed 
To  lure  the  gentle,  wayward  soul 
From  contemplation  of  the  Word, 
Whom  if  it  know  not,  nought  remains 
To  quench  the  fire  and  save  it  whole 
From  hell  and  endless  pains. 

For  lo  !  beneath  the  crabbed  text 
Another  line  goes  palely  glancing, 
A  line  of  lovely  Greek  ;  perplexed 
We  follow  it,  as  through  the  trees 
A  shepherd  watches  maidens  dancing 
In  mazy  revel,  when  the  night 
Is  darkening,  and  he  only  sees 

Their  limbs  and  vestures  white. 

Is  it  that  ancient  tale  of  Troy  ? 

Or  does  Ulysses  swim  to  land  ? 

Or  frenzied  Ajax  shout  for  joy 

'Mid  slaughtered  sheep?   Or  does  the  wife 


THE    PALIMPSEST  145 

Lay  wait  with  murder  while  the  strand 
Welcomes  her  lord  in  triumph  high  ? 
Or  does  Medea  hide  the  knife, 

And  bid  her  babes  good-bye? 

Nay,  'tis  the  pageant  of  a  god  ! 
Hark,  as  they  sweep  through  Thessaly, 
Waving  the  fragrant  fennel  rod, 
With  bosoms  bare  and  garlands  torn, 
"  Hail,  Dionysus  !  "  still  they  cry, 
"  Saviour  from  care  and  gloom  and  sin, 
For  thee  an  ivy  crown  is  worn, 
For  thee  a  dappled  skin. 

"  And  at  thy  side  a  torch  is  seen 
When  woods  are  purple  with  the  night, 
Guiding  the  feet  of  love's  own  queen, 
As  rosy  as  the  rosy  fire, 
To  secret  homes  of  dear  delight ; 
At  her  approach  the  beasts  around 
Are  tame,  and  moan  with  heart's  desire, 
And  fawn  upon  the  ground." 

The  revel  passes,  and  in  place, 
Set  in  the  halo  of  the  sun, 
Behold  Apollo,  calm  of  face  ! 
His  sounding  bow  is  in  his  hand, 
He  guides  the  horses  as  they  run, 
In  progress  with  the  chastening  light 
From  Delos  through  the  Athenian  land 

To  stern  Parnassus'  height. 
L 


146  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"  Paean  Apollo,  hear  our  prayer  ! 
Lyaeus,  spare  thy  suppliants ! 
Hear,  Aphrodite  " — Ah,  but  there 
Down  comes  the  schoolman's  pen,  like  tones 
Of  wrathful  thunderclaps,  and  plants 
Anew  the  doctrine  of  the  state 
That  Mary  holds  on  heavenly  thrones, 
Virgin  immaculate. 

A  dirty,  mouldering,  parchment  page, 
Thumbed  brown  by  many  a  generation 
Of  starveling  monks,  and  thin  with  age, 
Like  some  poor  soul  that  scarce  can  breathe 
Under  the  weary  perturbation 
Of  anxious  cares,  heaped  high  above 
His  ancient  self,  which  underneath 
Runs  in  pale  lines  of  love. 


VI 
IN    TWENTY-FOUR    HOURS 

FULL  of  joy,  young  Kephalas  climbed  the 
rocky  mountain  -  side,  with  his  section  of 
green-coated  cavalry  straggling  behind  him. 
The  cavalry  had  no  horses ;  there  were  not  enough 
horses  to  go  round.  No  matter !  other  nations 
had  mounted  infantry,  Greece  had  unmounted 
cavalry  ;  and  the  April  sun  shone  gaily,  and  a 
breeze  blew  from  the  sea;  brilliant  flowers  smiled, 
bees  went  booming  past,  and  from  the  valley 
below  came  the  tinkling  of  goat-bells,  for  the 
herds  were  being  gathered  into  pens. 

Now  and  again  from  the  top  of  the  hill  came 
the  sharp  report  of  a  rifle,  and  Kephalas  listened 
with  pleasure.  It  showed  he  was  at  last  in  the 
very  front — the  place  where  all  his  loving  friends 
in  Athens  had  told  him  he  was  always  sure  to  be. 
At  times  he  stopped  a  moment  and  looked  round 
upon  his  handful  of  men.  "To  the  City!"  he 
147 


148  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

cried,  springing  lightly  from  rock  to  rock,  and 
waving  them  forward  with  outstretched  arm. 

The  men  drew  breath  and  wiped  their  faces  on 
their  sleeves.  Some  laughed,  some  grunted. 
One  said  with  pleasant  Greek  familiarity,  "  It's 
all  very  well,  but  you've  not  got  to  carry  a  rifle, 
my  little  one!  " 

"To  the  City!  To  Constantinople !  "—that 
cry  had  echoed  in  the  boy's  mind  long  before  the 
righting  began.  He  had  often  pictured  himself 
riding  in  at  those  historic  gates,  whilst  the  Tyrant 
fled  through  the  wilds  of  Asia,  and  all  Europe 
rang  with  applause.  And  now  the  war  had  lasted 
ten  days,  and  victory  was  as  good  as  certain. 
Here  he  was,  with  an  invading  force,  over  twenty 
miles  in  Turkish  ground — twenty  miles  upon  the 
road  ! 

"Take  your  fellows  straight  up,  and  fill  in  the 
gaps  along  the  crest.  Be  careful  :  you'll  find  it 
pretty  warm  up  there,"  said  a  staff  officer  who 
was  sitting  under  some  bushes  with  two  or  three 
others,  leisurely  smoking. 

"  Up  we  go  !  This  way  to  the  enemy  !  "  cried 
Kephalas,  cheering  on  his  men  again. 

"  Brave  as  a  lion  !"  said  one  of  the  officers, 
blowing  the  cigarette  smoke  through  his  nose. 


IN    TWENTY-FOUR    HOURS  149 

"Oh,  we're  all  that!"  said  another,  and 
Kephalas  sprang  up  the  hill,  the  men  panting 
after  him,  while  he  fretted  impatiently  at  their 
slowness. 

Suddenly  a  shrill  wail  sounded  through  the 
air,  high  over  head,  and  passed  into  silence  far 
behind  them  down  the  valley.  It  was  like  the 
note  that  the  wind  makes  upon  a  telegraph  wire. 
Everyone  looked  up  as  though  expecting  to  see 
a  spirit,  but  all  knew  instantly  what  it  was,  and 
Kephalas  glowed  with  pride  at  the  thought  that 
he  had  now  been  under  fire  and  could  tell  his 
dear  people  at  home  how  he  felt.  Turning 
towards  his  men,  he  took  off  his  hat  with  mock 
politeness,  as  though  bidding  the  bullet  adieu, 
and  then  called  upon  them  once  more  to  make 
haste. 

Next  moment  something  passed  quite  close  to 
him,  with  a  low  growl  like  a  dog.  He  drew  in 
his  breath,  and  all  his  body  seemed  to  shrink 
together.  Down  went  his  head,  and  he  would 
have  fallen  flat  but  for  a  big  rock  in  front  of  him, 
which  he  clung  to  as  he  stooped.  The  thing 
must  have  been  close — horribly  close.  A  few 
inches  to  the  right,  and  life  would  have  been 
nothing  to  him  any  more  for  ever. 


150  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

When  at  last  he  ventured  to  raise  his  head  and 
look  cautiously  round,  he  saw  some  of  the  men 
were  resting  on  their  rifles,  and  some  were  cower- 
ing behind  rocks  like  himself.  But  all  were 
laughing,  and  they  were  laughing  at  him. 


Morning  slowly  changed  to  noon.  He  was 
lying  flat  on  the  top  of  the  mountain  ridge,  with 
a  white-skirted  Evzone  on  one  side  and  his  own 
corporal  on  the  other.  In  front  the  men  had 
piled  a  little  wall  of  stones,  with  loopholes  for 
the  rifles.  Now  and  again  one  of  them  took  a 
prolonged  aim  at  something  and  fired.  Kephalas 
could  only  lie  still  and  keep  a  watch  upon  the 
men.  That  was  all  that  could  be  required  of 
him.  To  right  and  left  the  scattered  line 
stretched  along  the  crest,  all  sheltered,  like  him- 
self, behind  rocks  or  piled-up  stones.  They 
were  a  mixed  force,  certainly — here  a  group  of 
ordinary  soldiers  in  heavy  blue  overcoats,  there 
an  Evzone  or  two,  with  conspicuous  red  cap  and 
long  white  stockings,  and  at  rare  intervals  one 
of  his  own  green  cavalry.  There  they  had  lain 
for  many  hours  now  and  nothing  had  been  done. 
They  kept  on  firing,  he  could  not  see  at  what. 


IN    TWENTY-FOUR    HOURS  151 

He  only  wished  they  would  stop,  for  whenever 
their  firing  increased  the  air  began  to  wail  again 
with  the  enemy's  answer,  and  sometimes  that 
terrible  growling  came,  and  sometimes  a  shrill 
cry  like  an  angry  child.  At  that  sound  he  put 
his  head  between  his  arms.  It  seemed  to  come 
crosswise,  from  right  to  left,  instead  of  from  the 
front,  but  he  could  see  no  reason  why  it  should. 
The  men  on  each  side  imitated  the  noise  when 
it  was  particularly  horrible,  and  then  looked  at 
him  and  laughed  again. 

The  sun  beat  down  upon  him  and  the  thirst 
was  unendurable.  Turning  his  head,  he  could 
see  the  little  village  far  below  at  the  mountain's 
foot.  A  crowd  of  soldiers  was  gathered  round 
the  wells,  watering  the  mules  and  sharing  out 
the  rations.  There  was  actually  water  down 
there,  and  here  he  was  dying  of  thirst.  He  could 
see  the  rough  track  running  up  through  the 
village  towards  the  pass  which  they  were  now 
defending.  Some  women  and  children  were 
collecting  their  little  herds  of  goats  and  cattle 
along  the  sides  of  it.  Far  away  was  the  quiet 
blue  sea,  broken  with  mountain  islands  and  thin 
promontories.  He  had  never  seen  the  world 
look  so  still  and  beautiful,  but  over  his  head  the 


152  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

cry  of  the  bullets  passed.  With  each  hour  it  had 
become  more  frequent,  and  now  it  hardly  stopped. 

The  tall  Evzone  at  his  side  rose  and  passed 
along  the  line,  stepping  unconcernedly  among 
the  rocks.  He  had  gone  to  fetch  ammunition, 
and  Kephalas,  with  his  face  pressed  against  the 
ground,  watched  him  moving  from  one  man  to 
another  as  he  returned,  and  handing  out  cart- 
ridges as  though  they  were  presents.  Every 
moment  he  expected  to  see  him  fall.  The  lead 
skimming  over  the  edge  of  the  crest  would  surely 
strike  him.  He  watched  with  excited  interest, 
as  if  he  were  at  an  execution,  or  like  a  gambler 
who  has  put  a  stake  on  a  good  chance.  He 
could  not  take  his  eyes  off  the  man  ;  he  almost 
hoped  to  see  something  terrible  happen,  and 
yet  he  longed  for  him  to  finish  the  task  and  lie 
down. 

The  man  walked  quietly  from  one  end  of  the 
line  to  the  other,  and,  after  filling  his  own  belt, 
went  back  with  the  empty  bag  to  the  little 
ammunition  cart  that  had  been  drawn  up  the 
hill.  Then  he  took  up  his  rifle  again,  carefully 
rearranged  the  goat's-hair  cloak  he  had  been 
lying  on,  and  went  on  firing  at  intervals  as 
before. 


IN    TWENTY-FOUR    HOURS  153 

Kephalas  would  have  given  all  but  his  life  to 
be  so  calm,  and  yet  he  dared  not  move.  Every 
time  he  had  just  determined  to  get  up  another 
bullet  wailed  or  growled  over  him,  and  he  lay 
still.  But  he  was  growing  more  and  more  restless 
with  the  inaction.  It  was  impossible  to  remain 
there  doing  nothing  any  longer.  He  thought 
of  his  hopes  of  winning  distinction  in  the  war ; 
he  thought  of  his  parents  and  sisters  and  one 
or  two  friends  of  theirs — married  ladies  and 
young  girls,  so  enthusiastic  for  the  cause  of 
Greece — how  they  had  all  admired  him.  With 
what  praise  and  devotion  they  had  crowded 
round  him  when  he  went  in  his  uniform  to  say 
good-bye  ! 

One  of  the  men  at  his  side  began  talking  to 
the  other. 

"See  that  devil  looking  round  the  end  of  that 
little  shed  ?  Quick  !  You  sight  on  his  white 
cap,  and  I'll  sight  on  his  body.  Are  you  ready? 
Now  !  " 

Both  fired  at  the  same  second,  and  waited  for 
the  smoke  to  clear  away. 

"  Got  him  !  "  said  one. 

"Good!"  said  the  other. 

"  My  shot,"  said  the  first. 


154  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"  Both,  then,"  said  the  Evzone. 

Kephalas  could  keep  still  no  longer.  Seized 
by  an  irresistible  curiosity,  he  rose  on  his  hands 
and  knees,  and  crept  close  up  to  the  little  wall  of 
stones  till  his  head  had  almost  touched  it.  He 
raised  himself  cautiously  so  that  his  eyes  came 
level  with  the  top.  Two  inches  more  and  he  saw 
the  land  in  front.  Just  below  him  was  a  little  red 
plain,  dotted  over  with  olive  trees,  small  vine- 
yards, and  some  sheds  and  houses.  It  was  only 
a  few  hundred  yards  across,  and  beyond  it  were 
mountains  and  more  mountains  again.  Not  a 
living  soul  was  to  be  seen,  but  his  eyes  were  at 
once  fixed  on  a  brown  figure  lying  with  out- 
stretched arms,  half  concealed  by  the  corner  of  a 
barn.  He  knew  at  once  it  was  the  man  the  two 
soldiers  had  just  killed.  Beside  the  figure  he 
could  see  the  white  Albanian  fez  which  had  rolled 
off  as  the  man  fell. 

Five  puffs  of  smoke  issued  together  from  the 
barn,  and  Kephalas  looked  at  them  curiously. 
Next  instant  the  air  all  round  him  shrieked  and 
whistled.  With  that  terrible  growling  noise  a 
bullet  crashed  against  one  of  the  rocks  close  by, 
and  as  it  broke  in  pieces  the  fragments  of  lead 
and  stone  sputtered  against  his  shoulder.  He 


IN    TWENTY-FOUR    HOURS  155 

dropped  behind  the  cover  and  lay  there  trem- 
bling. 

"What  the  devil  are  you  standing  up  for?" 
said  the  corporal.  "  You're  drawing  the  fire  !  " 

The  shots  came  again  from  in  front,  and  again 
the  air  screamed  with  death. 

The  Evzone's  head  fell  forward  upon  the 
breech  of  his  rifle,  his  legs  quivered,  and  he 
drew  them  sharply  up  under  him. 

A  bullet  had  sped  through  the  loophole  and 
sunk  into  his  brain. 


The  afternoon  moved  slowly  on.  They  carried 
the  dead  man  away,  and  Kephalas  took  his  rifle. 
It  was  nearly  five  o'clock  now,  and  in  two  hours 
more  the  sun  would  go  down  and  the  terrible  day 
end.  Already  the  mountain's  crest  was  throw- 
ing a  shadow  over  the  red  land  below  it.  For 
the  last  hour  the  enemy  had  been  quieter,  no 
doubt  because  they  recognised  the  absurdity  of 
attacking  such  a  position  as  that.  Only  occa- 
sionally the  double  hammer  of  the  Turkish 
Martini  was  heard,  and  a  shot  buzzed  through 
the  air.  Looking  along  the  scattered  line, 
Kephalas  saw  that  a  great  many  of  the  fellows 


156  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

were  fast  asleep,  and  here  and  there  little  groups 
had  spread  out  the  olives  and  bits  of  bread  they 
had  brought  in  their  pockets,  and  were  quietly 
conversing.  With  a  sense  of  happy  relief  he 
sank  down  comfortably  beside  the  rifle.  Dreamy 
visions  of  happy  days  passed  before  his  eyes, 
and  he  heard  well-known  voices  of  people 
whom  he  loved  gently  but  distinctly  calling 
his  name. 

He  was  awakened  by  a  hideous  roar  and  a 
crash.  Before  he  could  realise  what  it  was, 
another  and  another  came. 

"Sons  of  infidels  !  "  cried  the  corporal,  "they 
are  shelling  us  !  " 

Kephalas  peered  through  his  loophole  and  saw 
a  little  cloud  of  smoke  shoot  out  from  the  further 
edge  of  the  plateau.  In  a  few  seconds  came  a 
scream  through  the  air,  ending  in  a  sharp  note 
like  the  sound  a  harp-string  makes  when  it  snaps. 
All  the  ground  behind  him  was  splashed  with  a 
rain  of  bullets  and  bits  of  iron,  while  in  the  sky 
above  a  thin  wisp  of  white  cloud  showed  where 
the  shrapnel  had  burst.  At  the  same  time  the 
rifle-fire  was  renewed  along  the  whole  front  and 
increased  to  a  ceaseless  roll.  Over  the  rocks  and 
little  shelters  the  bullets  screamed  as  though 


IN    TWENTY-FOUR    HOURS  157 

driven  by  an  irresistible  wind,  and  now  and 
again  the  shells  flashed  like  lightning  in  a 
storm. 

"They  are  coming!"  said  the  corporal,  and 
began  firing,  reloading,  and  firing  again  as  fast 
as  his  fingers  could  move. 

Kephalas  peered  between  the  stones  again. 
Little  groups  and  lines  of  brown  figures  in  white 
caps  were  running  forward  over  the  red  strips 
of  field,  hiding  in  olive  bushes,  getting  behind 
sheds,  creeping  into  ditches,  but  always  coming 
on  again — always  on  towards  the  foot  of  the 
ridge.  They  did  not  stop  to  fire,  but  behind 
them  lay  the  long  line  of  smoke  and  flashing 
spurts  of  flame  from  which  that  driving  storm 
beat  upon  the  crest. 

Now  was  the  last  poor  chance.  Thrusting  his 
rifle  far  through  the  loophole,  he  fired  as  wildly 
as  the  corporal.  He  fired  at  anything  he  saw. 
When  one  line  passed  he  aimed  at  the  next. 
From  the  incessant  patter  of  the  rifles  he  knew 
that  everyone  was  doing  the  same.  It  seemed 
impossible  that  men  could  live  under  such  a  sleet 
of  lead  as  fell  upon  those  fields,  and  yet  he  knew 
at  once  that  all  was  in  vain.  The  lines  came 
running  on,  ten  or  twenty  at  a  time,  as  if  no 


158  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

power  on  earth  could  check  them.  One  after 
another  they  disappeared  into  the  dead  ground 
at  the  foot  of  the  ridge,  leaving  but  a  few  brown 
forms,  quiet,  or  moving  restlessly  upon  the 
furrows. 

A  silence  of  unendurable  expectation  fell  upon 
the  mountain  crest.  The  shells  ceased  to  fall, 
the  rifle  fire  also  ceased.  Some  of  the  men 
began  standing  up  and  moving  about  uneasily. 
Here  and  there  one  looked  cautiously  over  the 
edge  and  fired,  but  was  met  by  an  outburst  of 
firing  from  below.  The  order  to  fix  bayonets 
was  passed  down,  and  a  few  obeyed.  Some 
began  to  put  on  their  coats  and  gather  up  their 
cartridges  and  other  possessions.  He  saw  the 
ambulance  men  and  stretcher-bearers  make  off 
down  the  hill.  He  himself  stood  up  and  looked 
anxiously  around.  Behind  him  the  sun  was 
hanging  low  above  a  copper  belt  of  sea.  Day 
was  nearly  over,  and  in  an  hour's  time  it 
would  be  dark.  In  front  he  saw  fresh  lines  of 
those  white-capped  figures  beginning  to  steal 
silently  across  the  fields.  Few  on  the  crest 
fired  at  them  now.  The  rest  kept  moving 
backwards  and  forwards,  and  sometimes  one 
crept  a  little  way  down  the  hill,  then  made 


IN    TWENTY-FOUR    HOURS  159 

a  rush,  and  was  hidden  among  the  rocks  of  the 
slope. 

As  he  watched  the  line  seemed  to  shake.  It 
began  at  the  further  end.  The  men  ran  back  a 
yard  or  two,  then  forward  again  ;  they  ceased  to 
be  a  line,  and  became  a  confused  blur  of  moving 
figures.  Next  moment  they  were  streaming  away 
down  the  steep.  The  impulse  spread  like  fire 
from  man  to  man.  "  Off  you  go  !  "  shouted  an 
officer,  and  there  was  no  need  to  repeat  the 
order.  Flinging  away  their  arms,  leaping  over 
the  rocks,  jostling  and  stamping  upon  each  other 
at  the  top  of  each  little  track,  they  sprang  down 
the  mountain-side.  They  had  but  one  thought, 
the  longing  to  escape  with  life — to  escape  over 
that  edge  of  rocks  and  bushes,  beyond  which 
nothing  could  be  seen  but  a  wood  of  olive  trees 
far  below. 

Kephalas  gave  one  more  glance  at  the  place 
where  first  the  line  had  broken.  Already  a 
few  of  those  dark  brown  forms  were  creeping 
over  the  rocks  and  firing  at  the  fugitives  as  they 
disappeared.  Then  he  followed  the  rest,  and 
hurriedly  slid  down  the  face  of  a  low  cliff  of 
broken  stone.  All  was  over.  It  would  be  absurd 
to  stay.  All  was  over.  But  now  at  least  he 


160  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

could  get  water — water  in  any  puddle — any- 
thing liquid — anything  that  he  could  pour  down 
his  burning  throat. 


The  sun  had  gone  down,  but  the  clouds  were 
still  touched  with  crimson.  The  one  little  road 
up  which  the  Greek  army  had  pushed  its  wray  to 
the  head  of  the  pass  was  now  crowded  with  a 
disordered  stream  of  soldiers,  with  whom  mules 
were  mixed  up,  and  carts  and  guns,  while  into 
the  disordered  stream  the  Christian  peasants 
were  urging  their  cattle  and  flocks.  From  the 
houses  in  the  scattered  village  the  people  were 
throwing  out  their  goods,  and  binding  them  on 
the  backs  of  women  and  horses.  In  a  confused 
and  noisy  rabble  every  living  thing  was  struggling 
on  to  the  road  as  the  one  hope  of  safety.  No 
one  stopped,  no  one  listened,  no  one  gave  any 
orders.  In  half  an  hour  the  whole  army  was 
in  wild  retreat,  and  Kephalas  was  swept  along 
unresistingly  with  the  rest. 

He  had  found  his  horse,  and  in  silence  he  rode 
among  the  cursing  soldiers,  the  screaming  women 
and  children,  and  the  cattle.  At  every  yard  the 
panic  and  confusion  increased.  The  cry  arose 


IN    TWENTY-FOUR    HOURS  161 

that  the  Turks  were  coming".  Flinging  each 
other  aside,  and  pushing  their  way  among  the 
horns  of  the  cattle,  the  soldiers  and  peasants 
crushed  along  the  road,  and  looking  behind  him, 
Kephalas  saw  that  the  height  where  he  had 
been  was  now  covered  with  little  black  figures, 
brandishing  their  arms  and  blowing  shrill  trumpets 
that  could  be  heard  even  above  the  turmoil  around 
him. 

"  There  they  are  !  They  are  coming  !  They  are 
coming !  "  cried  a  man,  rushing  from  the  door  of 
one  of  the  cottages,  and  trying  to  drag  a  woman 
after  him. 

"No  matter!"  she  said,  in  a  quiet  and  con- 
tented voice.  "  Hold  the  quilt  a  minute  while  I 
see  to  the  calf." 

The  answer  was  such  a  contrast  to  the  general 
terror,  that  Kephalas  looked  at  her  again.  She 
was  a  young  peasant-woman  of  the  usual  Epirote 
type — strong,  broad-featured,  and  coarsened  by 
toil.  But  upon  her  face  was  a  look  of  imperturb- 
able happiness,  such  as  nuns  sometimes  have. 
As  she  spoke  she  handed  to  her  husband  a  long 
roll  of  quilt  that  Greek  peasants  use  for  bedding. 

"  Hold  it  just  a  minute,"  she  said  again,  "  while 
I  put  this  animal  straight.  Be  careful  with  it !  " 

M 


162  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

Her  husband  was  a  big,  handsome  man,  with  a 
mass  of  long  black  hair  hanging  over  his  fore- 
head. He  took  the  quilt  in  his  arms,  but  all  the 
time  his  eyes  were  turned  to  those  dark  figures 
upon  the  mountain. 

"They  are  coming  down!"  he  cried  again. 
"There  !  I  told  you  so.  They  are  beginning  to 
fire  at  us  !  " 

"  No  matter  !  "  she  answered,  in  the  same 
tranquil  tone.  "I'm  almost  ready  now." 

"You've  forgotten  the  key,"  said  the  man 
impatiently,  turning  round  again  just  as  he  was 
starting  to  run. 

"Oh,  that  doesn't  matter,"  she  said.  "We 
shall  never  want  that  again.  But  do  wait  half  a 
minute  till  I've  tied  the  calf's  feet,  and  then  you 
can  take  it  and  give  me  the  quilt." 

But  the  report  of  distant  rifles  sounded  from 
the  slope  of  the  mountain,  and  shouting,  "Come 
along  !  Come  along  !  "  the  man  pushed  his  way 
into  the  moving  stream  and  was  lost  to  sight. 

For  a  moment  a  look  of  terror  came  into  the 
woman's  eyes  as  she  saw  him  go.  Then  she 
stooped  down,  finished  tying  the  feet  of  a  little 
brown  calf  carefully  together,  put  it  round  her 
neck  in  a  loop,  with  the  head  hanging  down  her 


IN    TWENTY-FOUR    HOURS  163 

back,  bound  a  wooden  cradle  tight  round  her 
shoulders  so  as  to  rest  on  the  top  of  the  calf, 
caught  up  a  large  iron  cooking-pot  in  one  hand, 
and  set  off  in  pursuit  down  the  maddened  chaos 
of  the  road. 

"I'll  take  the  cradle,"  said  Kephalas,  as  she 
strove  to  push  past  his  horse. 

"  Not  for  the  whole  world,"  she  answered,  and 
they  were  thrust  apart  by  the  tormented  cattle, 
trampling  wildly  through  the  crowd,  with  wet 
muzzles  high  in  air,  and  eyes  turned  downwards 
in  terror. 


It  was  quite  dark  but  for  the  stars.  Yard  by 
yard  the  line  of  fugitives  was  making  its  way 
along  a  defile  in  the  mountains.  They  had  just 
passed  through  a  village  from  which  every  soul 
had  fled  and  joined  in  the  retreat.  Someone 
gave  the  word  that  the  soldiers  were  to  halt  and 
line  the  trenches,  carefully  constructed  some  days 
before  to  defend  the  position.  Kephalas  heard 
the  order  as  it  was  passed  down  from  mouth  to 
mouth.  The  soldiers  who  repeated  it  evidently 
thought  it  applied  to  everyone  except  themselves, 
but  he  turned  off  the  road  and  dismounted.  It 


164  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

was  impossible  to  see  where  the  trenches  were,  or 
to  collect  any  of  his  men  in  the  darkness  and 
confusion.  He  tied  the  horse  to  a  bush  and  lay 
down  on  some  flat  grass  to  wait.  The  sound  of 
the  passing  feet,  the  shouts  of  the  peasants  to 
their  cattle,  and  the  crying  of  children  were 
blended  in  a  murmur  like  a  river's,  and  he  was 
dropping  into  the  sleep  of  long  exhaustion  when 
someone  kicked  against  his  side  and  fell  violently 
over  him.  It  was  a  woman,  for  he  felt  her  skirt 
brush  across  his  face,  and  then  came  the  quiet 
voice  he  had  heard  before  :  "Oh,  what  a  mercy 
the  cradle's  empty  !  " 

"  Hurt  ?  "  he  said,  sitting  up. 

"  Not  much,"  she  answered,  shaking  out  her 
dress,  and  tightening  the  bands  on  her  shoulders. 
"I  was  trying  a  short  cut.  Have  you  seen  a 
man  with  a  red  quilt?" 

11  Not  since  we  started." 

"He  must  be  somewhere,"  she  said,  half  to 
herself,  "and  he's  pretty  careful  as  men  go.  If 
you  do  see  him,  tell  him  I'll  be  waiting  at  the  far 
end  of  Arta  bridge." 

She  pulled  the  calf  round  into  a  more  comfort- 
able position,  and  it  moaned  feebly  with  exhaus- 
tion and  pain. 


IN    TWENTY-FOUR    HOURS  165 

"Stop  that  noise,  you  little  bastard,"  she  said 
endearingly  ;  and  taking  up  the  cooking-pot,  she 
went  on  into  the  darkness.  Kephalas  heard 
the  jingling  chains  of  gun-carriages  going  by. 
There  was  no  thought  of  defence,  and  mounting 
again,  he  joined  the  rout. 


The  weary  and  terrified  crowd  stumbled  along 
its  way.  Caught  by  the  infection  of  panic,  the 
soldiers  paid  no  heed  to  commands.  It  was  use- 
less for  one  to  stop  when  all  the  rest  were  going, 
and  so  in  the  stream  of  peasants  and  frightened 
cattle  the  army  drifted  back  from  point  to  point. 
Some  time  after  midnight  they  cleared  the  moun- 
tains, and  on  one  side  of  the  road  extended  an 
open  marsh  where  deep  waters  ran,  and  black 
pools  reflected  the  stars.  The  confusion  of  the 
retreat  was  now  dimly  visible  by  the  dull  glow 
from  a  burning  town,  over  which  heavy  clouds 
of  illuminated  smoke  were  hanging.  Kephalas 
recalled  the  morning,  not  more  than  a  week  be- 
fore, when  he  had  ridden  into  that  town  with  the 
joy  of  victory,  and  had  found  the  Greek  inhabi- 
tants setting  fire  to  the  homes  of  their  oppressors. 
The  fire  was  burning  still,  but  how  great  was  the 


166  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

change  !  Was  it  possible  that  those  few  hours 
on  an  insignificant  ridge  should  have  made  all 
that  difference  ? 

For  the  first  time  the  bitterness  of  shame  came 
over  him.  Why  had  he  been  so  frightened  all 
day  long?  How  much  better  it  would  have  been 
to  have  died  with  honour  !  It  was  not  such  a 
difficult  thing  to  die  ;  he  had  seen  that  it  was 
quick  and  simple.  What  was  the  good  of  life 
now  that  it  was  blackened  with  shame  ?  That 
was  a  thought  he  dared  not  face,  though  it  kept 
peering  at  him  with  sidelong  eyes.  If  he  had 
but  charged  upon  those  white-capped  creatures 
as  they  climbed,  with  what  pride  his  name  would 
have  been  spoken  ! 

But  where  would  he  have  been  now?  What 
would  he  have  heard  of  his  fame?  His  body 
would  be  lying  cold  among  the  rocks.  He  would 
have  felt  nothing  more  again,  and  seen  nothing 
more — no  more  sun,  no  more  delight  in  food 
and  drink  and  women.  The  cold,  wet  earth 
and  everlasting  forgetfulness  —  no,  not  even 
that!  Nothing  at  all — an  unimaginable  nothing- 
ness. 

"  Hullo,  Kephalas  !  Are  you  all  right  ?  "  said 
a  voice  at  his  side,  and  he  dimly  saw  the  face  of 


IN    TWENTY-FOUR    HOURS  167 

a  brother  officer,  whose  horse  was  being  swept 
along  in  the  crowd  beside  his  own. 

"If  those  Turks  come  on  now,  they'll  kill 
every  soul  of  us,"  the  man  went  on. 

"  I  suppose  they  will,"  said  Kephalas. 

"  But  we'll  soon  be  safe  now — that's  one 
comfort,"  said  the  other. 

"  Yes  ;  that's  one  comfort." 

"  I  saw  you  going  up  to  the  firing-line — brave 
as  a  lion,  as  I  said.  Glorious  engagement !  I 
went  up  myself  afterwards  ;  never  enjoyed  any- 
thing more.  We  fought  like  heroes.  Glorious 
engagement!  —  glorious!  Should  like  to  see 
what  the  papers  say  in  Athens." 

"Perhaps  we  shall  be  there  in  time,"  said 
Kephalas. 

"Outnumbered,  of  course;  we  are  a  small 
people,"  the  other  continued.  "But  we  fought 
like  lions — there's  no  question  of  that.  We  shall 
be  famous  for  ever." 

"It  seems  to  me  rather  a  serious  defeat,"  said 
Kephalas. 

"So  was  Thermopylae,"  said  the  other. 

A  thick  cloud  of  dust  hung  above  the  road,  the 
glare  of  the  distant  flames  converting  it  into  a 
red  film  that  covered  the  sky.  Strange  figures 


168  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

moved  in  the  dim  light  and  vanished.  Cries  of 
terror  and  pain  arose,  and  were  unanswered.  In 
helpless  misery  the  beasts  and  human  things 
jostled  each  other  savagely  along  the  surface 
of  the  world. 

A  woman's  arm  clung  for  a  moment  to  the 
other  officer's  saddle  for  support. 

"  Curse  you!"  he  cried.  "Let  go,  will 
you?  Let  go!"  and  he  struck  at  her  with  his 
bridle. 


The  white  glimmer  of  next  day  had  come,  and 
the  heavy  smell  of  orange  blossom  showed  that 
the  orchards  of  the  town  were  near.  From  end 
to  end  the  long  and  narrow  bridge  across  the 
frontier  river  was  crammed  with  struggling 
fugitives.  Men  and  women  tore  at  each  other's 
clothes  in  their  haste  ;  children  were  crushed 
into  the  niches  of  the  walls,  and  remained  there 
shrieking  with  fear,  unable  to  force  their  way 
back  into  the  solid  and  moving  crowd.  Cattle 
and  goats  leapt  on  the  low  parapets,  and  were 
pushed  down  into  the  white  stream  that  roared 
between  the  arches.  The  one  longing  was  for 
escape,  and  now  it  seemed  so  near.  But  light 


IN    TWENTY-FOUR    HOURS  169 

was  increasing,  and  who  could  tell  how  close  the 
enemy  might  be  by  dawn  ? 

Kephalas  struggled  over  with  the  rest,  and  as 
he  reached  the  further  side  the  first  tinge  of  gold 
appeared  in  the  eastern  sky  behind  the  fortress, 
from  which  the  two  big  six-inch  guns  protected 
the  road.  Standing  beside  an  orange  tree  close 
to  the  river  bank,  he  saw  the  same  woman  with 
the  cradle  and  the  calf.  She  had  laid  them  down 
at  her  feet  now,  and  was  anxiously  watching  the 
stream  of  confused  and  hurrying  forms  that  were 
driven  violently  out  from  the  mouth  of  the  bridge, 
and  scattered  themselves  slowly  over  the  gardens 
and  lanes  of  the  ancient  town. 

"I've  not  seen  the  man  with  the  quilt,"  said 
Kephalas. 

"  No  matter,"  she  answered,  again  using  the 
commonest  of  all  Greek  phrases,  and  turning  her 
eyes  on  him  only  for  a  single  moment.  "  Per- 
haps he  kept  in  front,  and  yet  I  came  pretty 
quick." 

Dismounting  to  let  the  horse  drink,  he  stood 
at  her  side  and  watched  the  people  as  they 
passed.  The  haggard  light  of  morning  was  now 
upon  their  sleepless  faces  ;  women  almost  hidden 
under  their  enormous  burdens,  children  crawling 


170  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

along  too  tired  to  cry  any  more,  men  still  trying 
with  curses  and  blows  to  keep  together  what  was 
left  of  their  few  sheep  or  cattle — all  passed 
wearily  on  and  began  to  settle  down  under  trees 
or  walls,  like  wandering  picnics  of  misery.  The 
soldiers  came  sullenly  too,  and  flung  themselves 
down  in  the  ditches  to  sleep.  All  at  once,  from 
the  midst  of  a  group  of  them,  a  man  forced  his 
way  out  and  came  hurrying  towards  Kephalas 
and  the  woman,  waving  his  hand  to  her  in  joyful 
greeting. 

"Here  I  am.  I've  got  through  safe!"  he 
cried,  springing  over  a  ditch  with  a  kind  of 
childish  triumph. 

Kephalas  looked  at  the  woman,  and  saw  that 
her  face  was  pale  and  rigid  as  stone. 

"  Where  is  the  quilt?"  she  whispered. 

"  Oh,  bother  the  quilt,"  said  the  man.  "  I  had 
enough  to  do  to  save  myself.  But  it's  all  right 
now.  I  knew  I  should  find  you  here." 

"Where  is  the  quilt?"  she  said  again,  as  if 
she  had  not  heard. 

"Oh,  what  does  the  quilt  matter?  I  threw  it 
away  at  the  bend  of  the  road,  just  as  we  came  to 
the  marsh.  I  tell  you  I  had  enough  to  do  to  save 
myself.  What  does  a  quilt  matter  ?  " 


IN    TWENTY-FOUR    HOURS  171 

"  The  child  was  in  it,"  she  said,  and  for  a  while 
they  stood  motionless,  looking  at  each  other. 

Kephalas  turned  away,  and  pretended  to  be 
occupied  with  his  horse,  that  stood  with  drooping 
head,  too  tired  to  feed. 

1  *  Nothing  can  be  done,  nothing,"  he  heard 
the  man  say,  and  when  he  looked  again,  the  man 
was  sitting  beside  the  calf  with  his  head  hidden 
in  his  hands  ;  but  the  woman  had  not  moved. 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  a  far  distance,  beyond  the 
point  where  the  road  was  lost  to  sight. 

Kephalas  went  up  to  the  man  and  touched  him 
on  the  shoulder. 

1  'Where  was  it?"  he  asked. 

"I've  told  you,"  the  man  said  moodily.  "  I 
threw  the  thing  away  just  at  the  bend  of  the  road 
where  we  came  to  the  marsh.  How  was  I  to 
know?" 

"Wait  for  me  here.  Wait  till  midday,"  said 
Kephalas,  and  mounting  hastily,  he  urged  the 
tired  and  frightened  horse  straight  out  into  the 
river,  instead  of  making  any  vain  attempt  to  force 
a  way  back  over  the  crowded  bridge. 

The  water,  rushing  from  the  mountain  snows, 
foamed  against  the  saddle  and  drenched  him  to 
to  the  waist.  But  he  cared  neither  for  cold  nor 


172  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

danger  now,  and  he  felt  neither  hunger  nor 
fatigue.  His  one  thought  was  whether  the  horse 
would  stand  against  the  flood.  It  shivered  and 
groaned  with  terror,  but  at  last  it  reached  the 
shallows  and  staggered  up  the  opposite  bank. 
Shouting  and  waving  his  sword  as  though  he 
bore  some  special  order  from  the  general,  he 
cleared  a  path  through  the  dust  and  crowd,  which 
grew  thinner  as  he  hurried  wildly  back  along  the 
road.  Within  a  mile  of  the  bridge  he  passed  the 
very  hindmost  of  the  fugitives  limping  drearily 
after  the  rest,  and  often  looking  behind  in  terror. 
The  way  was  strewn  with  pieces  of  garments, 
bedding,  and  furniture.  Rifles  lay  flung  aside 
upon  the  banks.  Cattle  and  sheep  had  sunk 
down  to  die,  unable  to  crawl  further,  or  crushed 
and  maimed  in  the  panic.  They  looked  at  him 
with  appealing  eyes,  but  the  road  was  clear  now, 
and  spurring  the  horse  into  a  tottering  canter,  he 
pressed  on  and  on,  conscious  only  of  one  purpose 
— to  reach  the  top  of  the  marsh  before  the  enemy 
came  down.  Everything  else  had  become  a  dim 
and  meaningless  dream.  All  his  unhappiness 
had  gone.  Shame,  uncertainty,  and  self-reproach 
were  silent.  He  who  yesterday  morning  had 
started  with  the  cry,  "To  Constantinople  !  "  did 


IN    TWENTY-FOUR    HOURS  173 

not  even  think  of  his  purpose  now.  Could  it  be 
for  a  miserable  little  child  he  was  going?  He 
neither  knew  nor  cared  why  he  was  going.  His 
whole  life  was  concentrated  in  the  passionate 
desire  to  hasten  on  and  to  arrive. 

The  sun  rose,  and  everything  became  visible 
upon  the  mountains  and  the  steaming  plain,  but 
no  living  thing  was  in  sight.  Suddenly,  far  in 
front  of  him,  he  saw  the  curve  of  the  road  where 
the  marsh  began.  He  drew  in  his  breath,  and 
called  to  the  horse.  But  the  poor  creature  could 
canter  no  further,  and  gradually  fell  to  a  walk. 
Slowly  they  came  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  place. 
It  was  now  hardly  three  hundred  yards  away — if 
he  were  sighting  a  rifle  on  it,  he  thought  dreamily 
to  himself,  he  would  sight  at  three  hundred  yards. 
But  he  must  be  careful  now,  or  he  would  miss 
the  very  thing  he  was  looking  for.  What  was 
he  looking  for  ?  It  was  something  red — yes,  cer- 
tainly it  was  something  red.  He  let  the  bridle 
fall  loose  upon  the  horse's  neck,  and  walked  on, 
just  watching  the  sides  of  the  road  in  front  with 
half- closed  eyes. 

"Something  red — something  red,"  he  kept 
murmuring  to  himself,  and  then  suddenly,  "Why 
look  !  There  is  something  red  !  " 


174  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

At  the  same  moment  the  sharp  report  of  a  rifle 
near  in  front  waked  him  with  a  start,  and  once 
more  he  heard  the  terrible  growl  of  a  bullet  pass- 
ing close  to  his  side. 


"  I'm  dying  of  hunger,"  said  the  man,  leaning 
back  against  the  stem  of  the  orange  tree. 

The  woman  made  no  answer.  She  was  seated 
at  the  top  of  the  river  bank,  with  her  chin  sunk 
upon  her  knees  and  her  eyes  fixed  in  one  im- 
movable gaze  upon  the  now  empty  road  beyond 
the  bridge. 

"  Aren't  you  hungry?"  he  asked  after  a  while. 

"  No,"  she  replied,  without  turning  her  head. 

"The  calf's  dying,"  he  went  on  presently. 
"I  had  better  kill  it  before  it  dies.  We've  got 
nothing  else  to  eat." 

"  All  right,"  she  said. 

He  took  the  calf  a  little  way  along  the  bank 
and  cut  it  in  pieces  with  the  long  knife  he  carried 
in  his  belt.  Then  he  went  down  to  the  river  and 
washed  the  blood  off  his  hands  and  arms. 

"Now  we've  got  nothing  to  cook  it  with,"  he 
said.  "All  the  wood  here  is  green." 

The  woman  said  nothing  and  seemed  as  if  she 


IN    TWENTY-FOUR    HOURS  175 

had  not  heard.  He  stood  up  and  looked  round 
anxiously  for  a  while. 

"  We  might  break  up  the  cradle  now,"  he  said 
at  last. 

4 'Never!"  she  cried,  tightening  her  hands 
together.  And  both  were  silent. 

"I'm  dying  of  hunger,"  he  repeated  at  length ; 
"and  after  all,  it's  no  good  dying.  The  cradle's 
the  only  wood  we've  got.  Ten  to  one  we  shan't 
want  it  again." 

"All  right,"  she  said.  "  He  can  sleep  in  my 
arms." 

He  went  back  to  the  tree,  and  putting  one  foot 
into  the  middle  of  the  cradle,  he  tore  off  the 
hood  and  broke  away  the  sides  and  rockers. 
The  wood  cracked  and  shrieked  as  it  gave. 
Then  with  his  knife  he  cut  the  bits  up  into 
lengths,  and  set  aside  some  thin  chips  and 
shavings  for  the  kindling.  Taking  three  large 
stones,  he  laid  the  wood  between  them,  and 
fitted  the  cooking-pot  on  to  the  top  till  it  stood 
firm. 

"  Now  we'll  soon  have  something  to  eat,"  he 
said,  fetching  some  portions  of  the  calf  and  trim- 
ming them  up  with  his  knife.  "  Get  some  water, 
and  give  me  the  matches." 


176  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

She  did  not  move,  and,  turning  to  her  sharply, 
he  cried,  "  Get  some  water,  will  you  ?  " 

But  her  face  was  now  hidden  between  her 
knees,  and  her  hands  stretched  out  as  if  to  ward 
off  some  terrible  thing  that  was  approaching. 

He  looked  up  and  saw  a  man  on  horseback 
coming  slowly  along  the  road  the  other  side  of 
the  bridge.  He  was  leaning  far  forward,  and 
the  horse's  head  and  neck  almost  hid  him  from 
sight.  The  peasant  watched  him  anxiously,  and 
said,  "He  hasn't  got  the  quilt." 

The  woman's  face  sank  lower  between  her 
knees. 

"I  told  him  exactly  where  I  threw  it,"  the 
man  went  on,  "but  perhaps  it  slid  down  into 
the  water." 

The  woman  clasped  her  hands  together  and 
shuddered. 

"He's  coming  near  now,"  said  the  man;  "I 
can  see  him  quite  plain.  He's  leaning  forward 
in  a  queer  sort  of  way.  His  horse  can't  do  much 
more  than  walk.  Now  he's  at  the  other  end  of 
the  bridge.  I'll  go  and  meet  him.  It's  no  good, 
he  hasn't  got  the  quilt,  but  I'll  go  and  meet  him. 
There's  no  danger  now." 

The  woman  heard  him  go.     With  bowed  head, 


IN    TWENTY-FOUR    HOURS  177 

and  fingers  tightly  interlaced  around  her  knees, 
she  sat  immovable. 

Before  her  closed  eyes  she  saw  only  that  little 
form  round  which  she  had  so  carefully  wrapt  the 
quilt  and  tied  it  safe.  He  must  have  been  hungry, 
and  at  the  thought  of  his  hunger  sharp  spasms 
of  pain  shot  through  her  breasts.  He  had  died 
slowly  of  hunger,  and  now  he  was  growing  cold. 
Or  he  was  lying  deep  at  the  bottom  of  a  black 
and  poisonous  pool.  Or  perhaps  he  was  not 
dead  yet ;  he  was  still  warm  in  the  quilt ;  he  was 
waking  up  and  crying  for  her,  and  there  was  no 
one  to  hear  him  cry — her  little  child — alone  upon 
the  deserted  road  !  Some  Turk  would  find  the 
quilt ;  he  would  unroll  it,  would  see  that  tender 
little  body  ! 

A  horse's  hoofs  came  slowly  down  the  slope 
from  the  bridge  ;  they  came  towards  her  across 
the  grass.  Someone  stood  at  her  side,  someone 
drew  her  gently  backward,  and  laid  something 
on  her  lap.  She  opened  her  eyes,  and  the 
wondering  grey  eyes  of  the  child  met  hers. 

Instantly  he  stretched  up  his  hands  with  little 
cries  of  hunger.  With  open  mouth  he  sought 
about  her  dress,  and  clung  to  her  fingers  that 
trembled  with  haste.  A  few  more  cries  and 

N 


178  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

eager  struggles  as  she  tore  the  stuff  away,  a  few 
comfortable  little  sounds  and  sighs,  and  then  he 
was  still.  She  bent  over  him  that  the  very  light 
of  day  might  not  come  between  them  again. 

"What's  the  matter?  Are  you  hurt?"  said  her 
husband's  voice  beside  her. 

"  I  think  I  am,"  said  another  voice. 

Her  husband  touched  her  shoulder.  "  Look," 
he  said,  "the  officer's  wounded." 

"  What  officer?"  she  asked,  holding  the  child 
closer  to  her  heart. 

But  without  raising  her  head  she  looked  side- 
ways, and  there  on  the  deep  grass  lay  Kephalas 
close  beside  her.  One  hand  was  caught  up  by 
the  bridle,  but  he  held  it  no  more.  His  face  was 
yellow  and  opaque  ;  the  eyes  were  slowly  closing 
down,  and  a  film  gathered  over  them  ;  the  lips 
were  blue  and  open,  and  a  thin  line  of  blood  ran 
from  them  down  his  cheek. 

"Child  all  right?"  he  murmured,  and  the 
blood  ran  quicker. 

"Only  hungry — all  right  now,"  she  said,  and 
without  moving  her  body  she  tore  up  some  grass 
and  wiped  the  blood  away. 

"That's  something,"  he  said,  and  the  blood 
came  again. 


IN    TWENTY-FOUR    HOURS  179 

"  You  are  badly  hurt?  "  she  asked. 

"  No  matter,"  he  said,  and  sank  quietly  into 
deep  unconsciousness. 

Her  husband  slit  the  uniform  open  with  his 
knife,  and  there,  low  down  on  the  right  side,  was 
a  little  purple  hole. 

For  a  while  the  heavy  breathing"  went  on, 
interrupted  by  gasping  struggles  with  the  blood 
that  welled  up  in  the  throat,  and  then  it  suddenly 
stopped  in  one  deep  sigh.  At  the  same  moment 
the  baby  fell  back  from  the  breast,  sighing  also, 
and  stretching  out  his  little  limbs  so  that  he 
might  the  better  settle  down  into  sleep. 


PYTHAGORAS   AT   ARGOS 

ARRIVED  from  far,  he  trod  the  remembered  ways 
Of  that  grave  town,  where  he  was  wont  to  be 

With  heroes  old  of  far  resounding-  days, 

Gathered  for  wandering  wars  by  land  or  sea. 

There  crumbling  over  a  sculptured  tomb  he  found 
The  rusted  armour  he  himself  did  wear, 

Battling  long  since  at  Troy,  and  underground 
Lay  his  own  body,  long  since  crumbling  there. 

Even  so,  in  wandering  through  the  haunted  nave 
Of  time's  old  church,  I  saw  against  a  stone 

A  panoply  of  love,  hung  over  a  grave, 
Where  lies  a  rigid  body  once  my  own. 

Why  waste  a  thought  on  long-forgotten  men, 
Or  spell  the  record  of  those  fading  lines  ? 

Sweet  life  is  sweeter  to  me  now  than  then, 
And  round  my  heart  a  nobler  armour  shines. 


180 


VII 
CORPUS    CHRISTI 

scene  is  at  Seville ;  it  is  early  morning, 
June  Qth,  1898 ;  the  sky  is  already  deep  blue 
but  only  strips  of  it  can  be  seen  inside  the  town, 
for  the  streets  are  narrow,  and  the  route  of  the 
great  Corpus  Christi  procession  is  protected  from 
the  sun  by  bulging  sheets,  carpets,  and  lengths  of 
brilliant  canvas  stretched  across  from  house  to  house. 
Carts  are  going  up  and  down  with  water  and  wet 
sand  to  cool  the  pavements ;  the  city  dustmen  are 
strewing  myrtle  leaves,  orange,  and  laurel,  which 
fill  the  streets  with  a  refreshing  smell.  The  fronts 
of  the  white  and  green  houses  are  hung  with  calico 
festoons,  usually  scarlet  and  yellow,  the  colours  of 
Spain.  In  the  balconies  the  richer  classes  are 
gradually  taking  their  places.  The  main  streets 
are  crowded,  but  a  passage  for  the  procession  is 
being  rather  ineffectively  cleared  by  a  line  battalion 
of  conscripts,  who  are  under  orders  to  start  for 

181 


182  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

Cuba  that  afternoon.  In  a  top  flat  in  one  of  the 
poorer  streets  Dona  Carolina  is  making  ready  for 
the  holiday.  Her  daughter  Pepita,  a  slight  black- 
eyed  girl  of  sixteen,  is  helping  her ;  Isidro,  a 
round-faced  boy  of  seven,  with  hair  cut  close  to 
his  head,  runs  about  upsetting  things.  The  mother 
carries  a  baby  with  one  arm  round  his  body,  whilst 
with  the  other  hand  she  puts  the  final  touches  to 
her  beauty.  The  baby  whimpers  most  of  the  time. 
The  walls  are  decorated  with  pretty  pictitres  of 
saints  and  the  funeral  cards  of  the  rest  of  the 
family. 

Dona  Carolina  speaks:  "  Pepita,  don't  look 
so  ill,  and,  oh,  catch  hold  of  Isidro  !  Naughty 
boy,  to  go  climbing  out  of  the  window,  and  I 
can't  think  why  your  aunt  Teresa  doesn't  come. 
Does  this  bodice  show  the  dirt,  Pepita  ?  Here's 
the  sun  pouring  in.  It  must  be  six  o'clock,  and 
the  procession  starts  punctually  between  ten  and 
twelve,  if  only  they  can  get  it  off.  I  asked  a 
priest.  But  your  aunt's  just  like  your  dear 
father — always  asleep.  Now  do  leave  Isidro 
alone  for  a  minute,  child,  and  hold  baby,  whilst 
I  do  up  my  back  hair  again.  That's  better.  I 
think  two  carnations  will  be  enough  on  top.  But 
I  don't  know,  perhaps  three's  best,  now  the  war's 


CORPUS    CHRISTI  183 

on.  Carnations  for  the  patriot,  they  say,  and 
it's  God's  mercy  we're  not  off  to  Cuba.  Don't 
stand  gaping  there,  Pepita  ;  give  me  the  em- 
broidered Philippine.  Now  is  that  on  straight? 
It  is  a  lovely  shawl,  certainly.  Your  dear  father 
gave  it  to  me  before  you  were  thought  of.  Is  the 
crimson  flower  just  in  the  middle  of  my  back,  and 
does  the  parrot's  beak  show  ?  Then  it  must  be 
right,  the  point  in  the  very  centre.  And  yet, 
somehow,  it  doesn't  seem  like  Corpus  Christi 
Day.  It's  the  war,  I  suppose.  Now  I'll  see  to 
baby,  and  for  goodness  sake,  child,  don't  look  so 
white.  You  won't  want  much  powder  to-day, 
but  you'd  better  put  a  little  on.  It  isn't  lady- 
like to  look  pale  without  powder.  One  carna- 
tion is  enough  for  a  child's  hair,  but  where  on 
earth  did  you  get  that  rose  to  stick  in  your  dress  ? 
I  never  did  like  to  see  vanity  in  one  so  young. 

Oh,  look  at  Isidro,  he's  rolling  on  the  floor 
again  !  Isidro,  darling,  do  try  to  be  good,  re- 
member you've  been  washed  to-day.  I  only 
wish  that  tiresome  aunt  of  yours  would  come. 
It's  too  aggravating  of  her,  everybody  will  get 
the  best  places.  But  there's  no  depending  on  that 
side  of  the  family,  and  I've  often  told  your  dear 
father  so.  Oh,  here  she  is  !  I  can  hear  her 


184  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

panting.  Pepita,  run  and  open  the  door.  My 
dear  Teresa,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  !  You're 
just  in  lovely  time.  Yes,  those  stairs  are  a  little 
trying,  even  if  one  isn't  exactly  old.  Never 
mind,  we're  just  ready  to  march  off,  as  those  poor 
soldiers  say.  Oh,  Pepita,  you've  forgotten  to 
hang  out  the  decorations.  Quick  !  bring  the 
coloured  counterpane  off  the  big  bed,  and  throw 
your  crimson  mattress  over  that  end  of  the 
balcony.  That's  what's  called  a  patch  of  colour. 
Now  I  think  we're  ready.  Just  one  last  look 
round.  Oh,  you  needn't  be  in  such  a  desperate 
hurry,  Teresa,  there's  plenty  of  time.  Let  me 
see,  have  we  got  everything?  Did  you  put  in 
the  wine  for  me  and  your  aunt,  Pepita?  And 
the  nuts  ?  I  think  that's  all.  Don't  be  impatient, 
Teresa  dear,  we  must  take  plenty  to  eat.  We 
shall  have  about  four  hours  to  wait  at  the  very 
least.  Now  come  along.  Just  let  me  feel  if 
I've  forgotten  the  key.  Yes!  what  a  mercy  I 
remembered  !  It's  in  my  other  pocket.  That's 
what  comes  of  having  two  dresses.  Just  run  and 
get  it,  Pepita.  There's  no  hurry,  Teresa.  Don't 
cry,  baby.  Going  to  see  pretty  soldiers  !  Pepita, 
what  are  you  doing?  Look,  there's  Isidro 
crawling  down  the  stairs  head  first." 


CORPUS    CHRISTI  185 

They  go  into  the  streets  and  make  their  way 
towards  the  cathedral. 

The  mother  continues:  "Oh,  what  a  crowd! 
Keep  close  to  me,  Teresa.  Pepita,  take  Isidro's 
hand  and  mind  the  basket.  The  decorations 
aren't  up  to  much  this  year.  That's  those  pigs  of 
Yankees — everything  dear,  everything  bad,  just 
because  the  Yankees  are  pigs  !  It  doesn't  seem 
reasonable  to  me.  You  know  those  people  just 
below  us,  Teresa  ?  Well,  their  son  Benito  starts 
for  Cuba  with  the  soldiers  this  very  day.  Pepita, 
don't  upset  the  basket.  Such  a  nice-looking  boy, 
and  quite  refined  !  When  I  got  up  in  the  night 
for  baby,  I  heard  somebody  crying  and  crying. 
It  must  have  been  his  poor  mother ;  it  sounded 
quite  close.  Oh,  Pepita,  just  look  where  Isidro's 
got  to — right  in  the  road  by  that  cart !  Well,  I 
never !  if  it  isn't  the  bullcart !  Look,  he's 
peeping  under  the  door  for  a  sight  of  the  bull ! 
Isn't  he  clever  ?  They're  going  to  kill  six  bulls 
this  afternoon  in  honour  of  Corpus  Christi. 
Come  back  to  his  mother,  then  !  Such  a  brave 
boy  !  Did  you  feel  his  breath,  then,  all  hot  from 
his  nose,  and  see  a  bit  of  his  horn  ?  There's  a 
darling  !  Run  along  with  Pepita,  my  precious  ; 
he  shall  kill  a  nice  bull  soon  himself,  he  shall. 


186  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

Well,  anyhow,  Teresa,  it's  better  killing  bulls  in 
Seville  than  going  to  be  killed  in  Cuba  like  poor 
Benito.  They'd  never  waste  a  bull-fighter  on  a 
war. 

For  heaven's  sake,  don't  stop  staring  about, 
Pepita.  No,  child,  I'm  not  going  to  stand 
here.  I  sent  your  dear  father  on  before  the 
sun  was  up,  to  lie  along  the  cathedral  steps  till 
we  came,  and  keep  places  for  five.  I  wouldn't 
stop  here  for  the  world.  But,  after  all,  I  don't 
know  ;  it's  certainly  a  very  good  place.  What 
do  you  think,  Teresa?  Pepita  says  we'd  best 
stop  here.  Just  take  baby  a  minute.  We  can  sit 
on  the  kerbstone.  We've  got  the  provisions,  and 
their  dear  father  can  quite  well  go  on  lying  down. 
Baby,  look  at  the  pretty  soldiers.  You  see, 
Teresa,  they've  got  their  knapsacks  on,  ready  to 
start ;  and  I  declare  if  that  isn't  Benito  just  in 
front  of  us  !  Now  he's  looking  round.  Wave 
the  basket  to  him,  Pepita.  Poor  boy,  he  does 
look  sad  ;  he  looks  as  if  he  had  lost  a  summer, 
as  they  say.  Pepita,  don't  let  Isidro  get  between 
the  soldiers'  legs.  It  does  seem  hard  to  go  and 
be  shot  when  you're  so  nice-looking.  Think  of 
his  poor  parents  !  He's  much  too  handsome  for 
that  sort  of  thing.  I  hardly  like  to  think  of  it, 


CORPUS    CHRISTI  187 

but  the  Yankees  always  strip  the  dead.  Pepita, 
you  must  not  get  so  near  the  soldiers.  Look, 
Teresa,  here's  our  priest  coming1  through  the 
crowd.  Now,  children,  kiss  his  hand  as  he 
passes. 

Do  you  really  think  Pepita's  getting  pretty? 
Well,  Teresa,  it's  very  nice  of  you  to  say  so. 
For  a  long  time  I  thought  she  was  going 
to  take  after  her  dear  father.  Pepita,  why 
didn't  you  kiss  the  priest's  hand  ?  Oh,  there's 
nothing  to  blush  about !  Aren't  children  queer 
things,  Teresa?  There's  Benito  trying  to  turn 
round  to  us  again.  Oh,  here's  the  man  with  the 
face  of  Christ  on  the  handkerchiefs.  Only  a 
halfpenny !  You  might  lend  me  a  halfpenny, 
Teresa.  I'll  pay  you  back,  and  I'm  sure  it 
would  be  good  for  Isidro.  Ah,  it's  cheaper  to 
be  good  now  than  when  we  were  young.  Here, 
Isidro,  look  at  the  pretty  handkerchief  your 
auntie's  bought  you  for  a  present !  Tie  it  round 
his  neck,  Pepita,  and  now  let's  settle  down  and 
be  patient.  I  told  you  there  was  no  hurry. 
Should  we  have  something  to  eat  now  or  wait? 
Pepita,  give  your  aunt  a  bit  of  cuttle-fish  and 
some  olives.  Yes,  Teresa  dear,  the  child  is 
becoming  quite  useful,  as  you  say.  You  see, 


188  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

I  never  let  her  out  of  my  sight  for  a  single 
moment,  and  that's  the  best  training  a  girl  can 
have." 

They  sit  on  the  pavement  waiting  for  about  two 
hours.  The  soldiers  stand  at  ease  and  talk  to  their 
friends  ;  Benito  turns  half  round,  leaning  on  his 
rifle,  but  does  not  speak  to  anyone.  Inside  the 
cathedral  the  ancient  dance  of  ten  boys  before  the 
altar  is  going  on,  and  now  and  then  the  sound  of 
the  church  music  and  the  rattle  of  castanets  comes 
down  the  street  through  the  open  doors.  At  last 
a  stir  in  the  balconies  shows  that  the  silver  cross 
which  heads  the  procession  is  in  sight. 

The  mother  continues  :  "  Now  they're  coming  ! 
Take  the  baby  whilst  I  get  up,  Teresa.  Now, 
Pepita,  be  ready  to  hold  up  Isidro  whenever  a 
saint  comes  by.  Here's  the  cross.  Look,  baby, 
pretty  !  Isn't  it  lovely,  Teresa?  Think  what  a  lot 
of  silver  !  And  now  who's  this  next  ?  Why,  if  it 
isn't  the  little  boy  with  the  fish !  Look,  Isidro, 
can  you  see  the  pretty  fish  ?  Hold  him  up,  Pepita. 
Yes,  darling,  those  are  men's  legs  underneath, 
carrying  him  along.  Isn't  he  clever,  Teresa? 
He  sees  everything.  Here  are  the  two  saints 
with  our  big  tower,  and  here's  the  lady  with  the 
lambs.  Look,  baby,  dear  little  lambs.  I  declare, 


CORPUS    CHRISTI  189 

Teresa,  they've  got  paper  carnations  stuck  in  their 
mouths  to  eat !  That's  to  show  they're  patriots, 
bless  their  little  hearts  !  Did  you  say  the  lady  is 
St.  Agnes,  sir  ?  Thank  you  very  much.  How's 
one  to  know  ?  But  you  mustn't  be  too  particular  ; 
all  saints  are  good,  thank  God.  And  here's  a 
bishop  or  somebody,  and  here's  a  sort  of  king. 
Ah,  I  know  what's  coming  now  !  It's  the  blessed 
Virgin  herself.  Look  at  her  poor  dear  heart  all 
bare  and  bleeding.  She's  the  saint  for  me,  after 
all.  Hail,  Mary !  Blessed  and  hallowed  be  the  day, 
blessed  and  hallowed  be  the  day  on  which  Thou 
didst  appear  in  the  flesh  at  Saragossa !  Poor 
thing,  she's  black,  you  see,  Teresa  !  The  best 
Virgin's  always  black.  It  must  be  very  queer  to 
be  black  all  over.  Don't  talk,  Teresa;  here's  the 
Corpus  Christi  itself.  Do  you  hear  the  people 
kneeling  down  ?  Now's  the  time  to  pray.  Pepita, 
just  untie  Isidro's  new  handkerchief  and  spread  it 
on  the  stones  to  save  my  dress.  It's  my  best 
dress,  Teresa,  or  I  wouldn't  take  it,  really  I 
wouldn't." 

In  an  enormoiis  silver  shrine  of  ancient  work- 
manship, the  sacred  wafer  of  Christ's  body  is 
carried  slowly  past.  A II  the  people  on  both  sides 
of  the  street  fall  on  their  knees  and  clasp  their 


190  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

hands  in  adoration.  The  soldiers  on  guard  along 
the  gutters  also  kneel,  but  when  the  shrine  has 
passed  they  slowly  fall  in,  two  deep,  and  march 
behind  it.  As  Benito  rises,  Pepita  rises  too,  and 
gives  him  both  her  hands.  He  takes  her  in  his 
arms,  and  says — 

' '  Heart  of  my  heart,  a  long  one  for  the  last  !  ' ' 
His  rifle  and  the  contents  of  her  basket,  wine- 
bottle  and  all,  crash  on  the  paving-stones* 

The  mother,  starting  up  from  her  devotions : 
"  Pepita  !  what  on  earth  are  you  doing?  Let  go 
of  him  this  minute  !  Teresa,  take  baby,  and  I'll 
pull  her  away.  You  shameful  child,  and  every- 
body looking!  'For  the  last,'  indeed!  And 
when  was  the  first,  you  wicked,  wicked  girl  ? 
What's  been  the  good  of  all  my  care  ?  Teresa,  if 
you  dare  to  look  like  that,  or  say  another  word,  I 
shall  cry  ;  and  you  might  have  finished  that  last 
drop  of  wine  ;  look,  it  has  splashed  all  over  my 
best  dress !  " 

An  officer  shouts,  "  Fall  in,  that  man!  Fall 
in  there  I  Forward  by  the  left."  Benito  marches 
on  with  the  rest,  Pepita 's  rose  in  his  mouth. 

"There,  there  Pepita,  don't  cry,  dear,  don't  cry. 
It's  all  right.  He's  gone  now.  Down  on  your 
knees,  so  that  the  people  won't  see  you,  and  pray 


CORPUS    CHRISTI  191 

to  St.  Agnes  and  our   Lady  to  forgive  you  all 
your  sins,  before  they  turn  the  corner." 

But  Pepita  was  praying  to  Santa  Rita  alone, 
the  saint  to  whom  all  men  pray.     For  Santa  Rita 
is  the  only  saint  who  has  the  blessed  privilege  of 
granting  the  impossible. 


AT  THIRTY-FIVE 

Now  in  the  centre  of  life's  arch  I  stand, 

And  view  its  curve  descending  from  this  day  ; 

How  brief  the  road  from  birth's  mysterious  strand ! 
How  brief  its  passage  till  it  close  in  grey  ! 

Yet  by  this  bridge  went  all  the  immortal  band, 
And  the  world's  saviour  did  not  reach  half-way. 


192 


VIII 
THE   RELIEF   OF   EDEN 

OVER  the  couchant  lion  of  Bulwana  the  sun 
rose  silently  into  a  clear  and  empty  sky, 
and  like  a  red  sword  his  first  ray  struck  the 
besieged  village  where  people  starved.  Instantly 
in  the  very  middle  of  his  disc  a  violet  cloud  of 
smoke  leapt  from  the  mountain  top,  and  the 
boom  of  a  heavy  gun  sounded  over  the  plain. 
Before  a  pulse  could  beat  three  times,  came  the 
whisper,  the  hum,  and  the  shriek  of  a  huge  shell 
flying  above  the  eucalyptus  trees  round  little 
Juliet's  cottage,  and  with  a  crash  that  shook  the 
windows  it  exploded  among  a  little  cluster  of  tents 
just  across  the  river.  The  scattered  fragments 
of  iron  buzzed  slowly  away  through  the  air,  or 
plunged  into  the  ground  with  a  sudden  thud,  and 
all  was  still. 

4 'Mother!"  cried  Juliet,  sitting  up  on  her 
blanket  in  a  corner  of  the  room.  "Mother! 
It's  time  to  get  up." 

O  193 


194  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

But  almost  before  she  spoke,  a  slight  and 
agile  figure,  covered  in  soft  white  from  neck  to 
foot,  had  sprung  to  the  door  and  was  standing 
under  the  verandah,  gazing  intently  at  the  scene 
upon  the  opposite  bank.  Men  were  hurrying 
about,  shouting  to  each  other,  and  dragging 
their  horses  under  cover.  She  looked,  and 
looked  again,  shading  her  eyes  with  a  thin, 
brown  hand,  though  the  sun  was  behind  her. 

She  was  turning  away  with  the  sigh  of  relaxed 
anxiety  when  whistles,  thrice  repeated,  blew  from 
the  neighbouring  camps,  and  a  little  further 
downstream  rose  the  cry  of  the  Hindoo,  mounted 
on  a  heap  of  sandbags  to  watch  the  great  gun 
all  day  long.  The  sentries  had  seen  the  flash  ; 
another  shell  was  coming,  and  was  coming  their 
way.  Holding  her  breath,  the  woman  looked 
again.  Far  behind  her  she  heard  the  boom  of 
the  gun's  discharge,  then  the  quick  whisper,  the 
shriek,  and  the  bewildering  crescendo  of  noise, 
coming  so  close  that  it  made  her  shrink  together 
and  crouch  down,  though  she  kept  her  eyes  still 
fixed  upon  those  little  tents.  Clean  through  the 
eucalyptus  over  the  cottage  the  thing  crashed, 
and  plunged  into  the  river  at  her  feet,  throwing 
up  a  great  column  of  yellow  water  and  white 


THE  RELIEF  OF  EDEN  195 

foam.      Twigs   and   branches  from   the   tree  fell 
tinkling  down  upon  the  iron  roof. 

From  the  next  room  a  shaky  old  voice  was 
heard  singing — 

44  Ye  banks  and  braes  o'  bonnie  Doon, 

How  can  ye  bloom  sae  fresh  and  fair  ! 
How  can  ye  chant,  ye  little  birds, 
And  I  sae  weary  fu'  o'  care !  " 

"  Mother !"  cried  Juliet,  "come  in  quick  and 
dress.  It's  always  bad  when  Mr.  Ferguson 
begins  to  sing." 

"Coming,  dearest,"  said  Celestine,  with  a 
last  look  across  the  river  to  where  the  tents  were 
standing,  thickly  browned  over  with  earth  and 
ochre  to  make  them  less  visible  to  the  enemy. 

But  before  she  had  finished  pulling  on  her 
delicate  red  silk  stockings,  the  whistles  blew 
again  and  another  shell  splashed  into  a  soft 
garden-bed  beside  the  cottage,  and  burst  with  a 
muffled  explosion  underground,  upheaving  a 
cluster  of  scarlet  lilies  and  scattering  them  high 
in  air. 

"  Thou'lt  break  my  heart,  thou  warbling  bird, 
That  wantons  through  the  flowering  thorn," 

sang  old  Ferguson,  and  as  he  sang  he  rushed  out 


196  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

of  the  house,  seized  a  pick,  and  called  to  a  Kaffir 
boy  to  help  him  dig  up  the  fragments. 

But  Nicodemus  had  crept  into  the  empty  coal- 
shed,  and  lay  cowering  there  in  the  confiding 
belief  that  its  tin  sides  and  roof  could  save  from 
death.  Juliet  heard  him  muttering  to  himself 
with  terror,  and  looking  from  her  window  as  she 
waited  for  her  mother  to  tie  the  back  tapes  of  her 
little  garments,  she  saw  his  grotesque  face  peer- 
ing round  the  corner  of  the  shed,  his  enormous 
mouth  wide  open,  and  his  distended  eyes  fixed 
on  the  edge  of  mountain  which  hurled  the 
thunderbolt.  In  the  midst  of  the  explosion's 
faint  smoke  stood  Mr.  Ferguson,  and  his  pick 
clinked  merrily  against  the  lumps  of  iron  in  the 
lily-bed,  while  all  the  time  he  sang  of  coming 
through  the  rye. 

"  Have  you  got  him,  Mr.  Ferguson?"  Juliet 
called  out  in  her  clear  little  voice.  "  Have  you 
got  him  ?  " 

"Ay,  I've  got  him  right  enough,  my 
dear,"  said  old  Ferguson,  looking  up  at  the 
sound.  "That  little  hummin'-bird  hatched  out 
well !  " 

"I  wonder  at  you,  James!"  cried  a  very 
different  voice  from  a  distance,  and  the  head 


THE    RELIEF    OF    EDEN  197 

of  a  poor  irritated  woman  was  seen  projecting 
like  an  "Aunt  Sally"  above  the  red  sand  where 
the  bank  fell  steeply  down  to  the  river;  "I 
wonder  at  you  fooling  about  there,  and  next 
minute  we  may  all  be  in  eternity  !  " 

"That's  where  we're  always  praying  to  be," 
said  her  husband.  "  But  there's  no  hope  of  that 
just  now.  I've  never  known  Boers  pitch  a  shell 
into  the  same  hole  twice.  They're  too  savin'  for 
that." 

"  How  much  longer  are  you  going  to  keep  me 
waiting  for  my  breakfast?"  the  woman  shouted 
again  from  her  entrenchment. 

"Go  on  without  me,  my  dear,"  said  Ferguson  ; 
"I'm  not  hungry  this  morning.  I  had  some 
of  that  chevril  the  day  before  yesterday.  I'll 
stop  and  bring  the  child  down." 

"The  child  !  "  muttered  the  woman  to  herself; 
"it's  always  the  child  !  " 

Boom  came  another  shell,  singing  high 
through  the  air,  and  her  head  instantly  dis- 
appeared. 

Juliet  watched  the  old  man  turn  back  to  his 
digging,  and  behind  her  she  heard  her  mother 
hurriedly  clicking  the  fastenings  of  her  slim 
corset.  Another  shell  buzzed  through  the  air 


198  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

and  burst  on  the  road  near  the  Intelligence 
Office. 

"You  had  better  go  down  without  me,  dar- 
ling," said  Celestine  ;  "we're  so  late  this  morn- 
ing, and  the  Boers  seem  very  busy." 

"I  must  just  go  and  see  my  little  Chucky 
first,"  Juliet  answered,  and  ran  round  the 
verandah  to  a  little  shed  at  the  back  of  the 
house,  from  which  a  low  clucking  came  to  greet 
her  footsteps. 

She  pushed  the  door  open  softly,  and  there 
found  the  joy  of  her  heart — a  little  brown  hen 
which  old  Ferguson  had  given  her  in  the  early 
days  of  the  siege,  and  had  let  her  keep  even 
when  its  value  rose  sixpence  a  day  for  weeks 
together.  Except  Mrs.  Ferguson,  the  whole 
household  knew  of  its  existence,  but  they  were 
bound  by  a  conspiracy  of  silence  never  to  speak 
of  it,  and  Mrs.  Ferguson  was  always  in  the  river- 
side burrow  from  dawn  to  roosting  time.  So 
every  day  Juliet  went  to  visit  her  joy  with  the 
delightful  excitement  of  secrecy. 

But  this  morning  the  hen  did  not  get  up  and 
pick  about  as  usual.  She  lay  cuddling  in  the 
dust,  only  clucking  to  herself  in  the  satisfied  tone 
of  accomplished  duty.  Juliet  put  out  her  little 


THE    RELIEF    OF    EDEN  199 

ivory  hand,  so  delicately  fashioned,  and  tried  to 
stroke  her.  But  at  that  the  hen  sprang  up  in 
alarm  and  suddenly  revealed  a  little  white  egg 
lying  on  the  sand.  Had  it  been  a  great  white 
diamond  Juliet  could  not  have  been  more 
astonished. 

Wonderingly  she  took  it  up,  all  warm  and 
clean,  while  the  hen  watched  her  with  a  bright 
brown  eye  and  clucked  in  apprehension.  Who 
should  have  it  to  eat?  Juliet  asked  herself,  and 
she  thought  of  her  mother  and  old  Ferguson  and 
black  Nicodemus  in  turn.  But  in  her  heart  she 
had  already  given  it  to  the  dear  soldier  who  rode 
across  the  river  to  see  her  every  day,  and  some- 
times brought  his  tiny  ration  of  sugar  as  a 
present.  He  should  have  her  treasure,  and  she 
would  give  it  him  in  secret.  For  she  loved  him 
more  than  anyone  else. 

Wrapping  the  nice  white  thing  in  some 
withered  grass,  she  put  it  in  an  old  box  where 
the  hen  could  not  get  to  it,  and  ran  round  to  the 
front  garden  full  of  the  hidden  joy  which  makes 
the  whole  world  look  gay.  Old  Ferguson  took 
her  in  his  arms,  but  was  too  weak  with  hunger 
to  carry  her  far,  and  they  went  hand  in  hand 
across  the  reddish  road  and  down  a  little  track 


200  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

over  the  edge  of  the  river  bank.  A  few  feet 
above  the  water  level,  he  and  Nicodemus  had 
there  scooped  out  a  deep  cavern,  with  a  flat  plat- 
form of  earth  at  its  mouth.  In  its  shelter  the 
family  had  spent  the  hours  of  daylight  ever  since 
the  bombardment  began.  For  four  months  they 
had  sat  there  day  after  day  till  all  were  worn  out 
with  hunger  and  disappointment — all  but  Celes- 
tine,  who  seemed  to  grow  happier  and  more 
beautiful  on  hope  deferred. 

At  the  turn  of  the  steep  path  the  old  man  and 
Juliet  came  in  view  of  Mrs.  Ferguson,  seated 
with  her  two  elbows  on  her  knees,  and  her  sharp 
chin  between  her  hands,  gazing  with  all  the 
latent  violence  of  desperate  resignation  at  Nico- 
demus, who  was  trying  to  boil  a  cauldron  on 
some  green  sticks  beside  the  river. 

"Oh,  you've  got  hold  of  that  child  at  last, 
have  you  ? "  she  cried,  without  looking  round, 
but  tapping  the  sand  irritably  with  one  foot ; 
"  I've  no  patience  with  people  who  can't  get  up 
at  decent  times  among  the  horrors  of  war. 
What's  the  good  of  all  these  shells  flying  about 
if  people  pay  no  more  attention  to  them  than  if 
they  were  potatoes  wanting  to  be  dug,  and  keep 
me  waiting  for  my  breakfast?  Not  that  it 


THE    RELIEF    OF    EDEN  201 

matters  much  to-day,  for  there  isn't  any  break- 
fast, and  it's  better  to  die  of  shells  than  star- 
vation." 

"Why,"  said  Ferguson,  uwhere's  the  rations 
I  drew  last  night  at  the  market  hall  ?  " 

"It's  all  your  fault,"  his  wife  replied,  her 
smouldering  fury  now  ablaze.  "It  was  through 
climbing  that  bank  to  see  if  you  were  coming 
that  I  upset  all  the  tea  and  sugar,  so  we've 
nothing  left  but  those  relics  of  a  horse,  and  I'm 
not  going  to  cook  them  in  the  morning  and  leave 
nothing  for  dinner.  We'll  have  to  go  hungry, 
and  that's  what  I've  always  kept  telling  you 
would  happen  ever  since  you  brought  that  person 
to  live  under  the  same  roof  with  me.  You  know 
who  I  mean,  so  I  needn't  name  her,  to  spare  the 
child's  feelings." 

"Well,  what  could  I  do?"  the  old  man  pro- 
tested. "She  had  nowhere  to  go,  and  I  was 
acquainted  with  her  in  Johannesburg.  I've  often 
told  you  so." 

"You  have,  Mr.  Ferguson,  you  have  indeed! 
At  the  Gaiety  Theatre  of  Varieties,  wasn't  it, 
that  you  became  acquainted,  as  you  call  it?  I 
think  you  said  it  was  called  the  tornado 
dance  she  used  to  whirl  her  legs  about  in  ?  No 


202  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

wonder  she  wears  red  stockings,  that's  all  I 
say  !  " 

"Yes,"  said  her  husband  absently.  "  Dutch 
farmers  used  to  ride  a  hundred  miles  across  the 
veldt  to  see  her,  and  never  want  to  go  back. 
Oh  well,"  he  added,  "that's  a  long  time  ago. 
That  was  before  she  married,  and  what  does  it 
all  matter  now?" 

"Oh,  I'm  not  saying  that  anything  matters," 
she  replied  ;  "  I  suppose  you're  the  best  judge  of 
that.  Only  what  I  do  hate  to  see  is  yellowish, 
whitey-brown  sort  of  people  dressing  themselves 
up  and  giving  themselves  airs  side  by  side  with 
British  Colonials  that  were  born  white,  like  me. 
And  as  to  being  married,  what  I  keep  wondering 
is  how  she  comes  to  be  here  and  her  husband 
goodness  knows  where,  and  a  certain  gentleman 
crossing  the  drift  every  day  of  the  week  to  play 
with  a  certain  little  girl." 

"  I  wonder  you  like  to  be  always  talking  such 
things  before  the  child,  woman,"  said  the  old 
man  angrily. 

"If  it  comes  to  wondering,  there  are  many 
things  /  wonder  at,"  his  wife  replied  serenely; 
"and  all  I  say  is,  tornadoes  are  very  good  things 
in  their  proper  place,  but  I  won't  have  any  tor- 


THE    RELIEF    OF    EDEN  203 

nado  dancing  in  my  house,  no,  nor  in  my  burrow 
either  !  " 

Hunger  and  irritation  at  the  loss  of  the  rations 
had  inflamed  Mrs.  Ferguson's  customary  sense 
of  propriety  to  prophetic  heat,  and  as  though 
spurning  a  filthy  world  she  shook  the  sand 
violently  from  her  skirts  and  tucked  them  tight 
round  her  knees,  while  she  continued  to  mutter 
to  herself,  "  No,  thank  you  !  No  tornado  dancing 
in  my  burrow,  if  you  please  !  " 

"There's  no  talk  of  tornadoes  or  anything  of 
the  sort,"  old  Ferguson  broke  out  at  last;  "all 
we've  got  to  think  of  now  is  keeping  ourselves 
alive." 

"And  that's  hard  enough,"  she  retorted, 
"with  you  making  me  spill  all  the  rations 
down  the  bank — you  and  that  Cape  girl  of 
yours  !  " 

"  Don't  talk  like  that  before  the  child,  woman," 
he  said,  and  taking  Juliet  on  his  knee  he  began 
to  sing,  "Charlie  is  my  darling,  my  darling,  my 
darling." 

"The  child!  It's  always  the  child!"  the 
woman  muttered.  "If  I'd  ever  had  a  child, 
you'd  know  a  child  more  or  less  is  neither  here 
nor  there  !  " 


204  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

Beyond  a  vague  sense  of  something  disagree- 
able, like  medicine,  Juliet  had  attached  no  mean- 
ing whatever  to  the  conversation.  It  was  only 
grown-ups'  talk,  and  she  was  thinking  all  the 
time  of  that  beautiful  white  egg  and  the  joy  of 
her  hero  wrhen  she  gave  it  him.  But  suddenly 
she  began  to  wriggle  away  from  the  old  Scot,  for 
she  heard  her  mother  coming  down  the  bank, 
and  ran  to  throw  her  arms  round  her  knees  with 
the  relief  of  entire  security.  Among  all  the 
squalor  and  misery  of  the  starving  town,  the 
pervading  smell  of  sickness  and  death,  the  litter 
of  tin  cans  and  barbed  wire,  the  torn  and 
blackened  uniforms  of  the  men  who  crawled 
along  the  bank,  their  faces  pallid  and  thin-drawn, 
and  their  legs  bent  with  feebleness,  Celestine  was 
certainly  a  refreshing  sight.  She  was  dressed  in 
semi-transparent  white,  like  one  thin  lily,  except 
for  a  touch  of  scarlet  at  her  breast,  repeated  on 
one  side  of  the  large  hat,  and  again  in  the  offend- 
ing stockings  just  seen  below  her  skirt.  The 
soft  brown  eyes,  in  a  strangely  mobile  face, 
seemed  full  of  youthful  happiness  and  health. 
One  wrould  have  said  it  was  Juliet's  face,  only 
inscribed  writh  a  brief  series  of  gentle  and  sweet- 
hearted  records  to  delight  mankind. 


THE    RELIEF    OF    EDEN  205 

"  What,  Jule,  you'll  throw  me  down!"  she 
cried,  swinging  the  child  up  with  the  grace  of 
practised  strength.  There  was  ever  so  slight  a 
foreign  accent  in  her  voice.  "  Good  morning, 
Mrs.  Ferguson,"  she  went  on,  with  a  smile  of 
pity  at  the  poor  woman's  disconsolate  attitude. 
u  I  do  hope  your  unhappiness  is  better  ?  " 

Mrs.  Ferguson  gave  one  quick  look  at  the 
cheerful  face  with  its  impudent  little  nose 
and  long,  smiling  lips.  Then  she  said  with 
much  deliberation,  "  I  thank  you  kindly,  Mrs. 
_Mrs. " 

"Rosendal,"  Celestine  quietly  suggested,  as 
if  to  help  her  memory. 

"  I  thank  you  again,"  Mrs.  Ferguson  went  on. 
"  I  never  can  remember  your  proper  married 
name,  and  whether  it's  Boer  or  Jew  or  some- 
thing else  foreign  is  more  than  I  know.  But 
everybody  knows  your  maiden  name,  if  I  may  so 
call  it,  through  seeing  it  stuck  about  on  the 
boardings  years  ago,  with  a  picture — such  a 
picture  !  However,  as  I  was  going  to  say,  as  to 
unhappiness,  I  never  was  one  to  enjoy  myself 
and  dress  up  in  cheap  finery  when  better  people 
than  me  were  dying  by  their  thousands  of  fever 
and  starvation  and  shells.  Not  but  what  I 


206  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

envy  those  who  can — of  course  I  do — those  who 


can 


"  I'm  sure  you  must  indeed,"  said  Celestine. 
"  You've  no  idea  how  splendid  it  is  to  feel  really 
happy.  It  must  be  terribly  trying  for  you  to 
be  always  miserable.  But  come  along,  Jule, 
we'll  go  down  and  help  Nicodemus  make  the 
tea." 

"There  isn't  any  tea,"  said  Mrs.  Ferguson, 
drawing  herself  together  with  the  profound  satis- 
faction of  those  that  bring  evil  tidings.  "  You 
and  Ferguson  made  me  upset  it  through  climb- 
ing up  the  bank  to  see  why  you  weren't  coming ; 
and  if  you  doubt  my  word,  look  in  the  sand  and 
you'll  find  a  quarter  of  an  ounce  of  tea  and  four 
ounces  of  sugar  mixed  up  in  my  footmarks. 
That's  the  rations  the  Imperial  Home  Govern- 
ment give  for  four  mouths  after  commandeer- 
ing our  store.  No  wonder  we're  loyal — we 
Colonials  !  " 

"  All  the  tea  and  sugar  gone  !  Well,  that  is 
bad  luck,"  said  Celestine. 

"  Not  that  I  mind,"  Mrs.  Ferguson  went  on, 
"  for  I've  lost  my  appetite  this  morning  through 
seeing  a  mule's  head  cut  off  close  beside  that 
tent  there,  where  your  gentleman  friend  lives, 


THE    RELIEF    OF    EDEN  207 

and  I  thought  to  myself,  '  That's  a  narrow 
squeak  for  the  gentleman  who's  so  fond  of 
Mrs.  What's-her-name's  little  girl  ! ' ' 

Realising  the  fate  of  the  day's  sugar,  Juliet 
began  to  whimper  quietly  to  herself. 

"Never  mind,  Jule,"  said  her  mother,  "  we'll 
go  and  help  with  the  mealy-meal." 

"  Hate  mealy-meal,"  sobbed  the  child. 

"So  do  I,"  said  Celestine,  "but  we'll  call  it 
eggs  and  all  manner  of  lovely  things." 

At  the  thought  of  eggs  the  child  remembered 
her  secret  joy,  and  they  went  down  to  the  fire, 
where  Nicodemus  was  stirring  the  little  saucepan 
of  porridge  that  was  to  serve  for  four,  not  count- 
ing the  scrapings  for  himself.  As  he  looked  up 
with  the  smile  of  an  affectionate  dog,  Juliet  ran 
and  laid  her  little  ivory  arm  across  his  bare, 
black  shoulders.  Celestine  was  following  when 
she  caught  the  peculiar  smell  which  clings  even 
to  the  best-washed  Kaffir,  and  she  turned  quickly 
away,  involuntarily  shuddering. 

Nicodemus  raised  his  onyx  eyes,  tinged  with 
yellow,  to  the  pure  onyx  eyes  of  the  girl,  and 
smiled  again  with  good-humoured  welcome. 
"  Plenty  ready  now,  plenty  ready,"  he  said. 

"Zulu,    speak  Zulu,    little  Jule   loves   Zulu," 


208  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

she  answered  coaxingly,  and  he  repeated  the 
words  in  the  soft  and  pleasant  tongue. 

"  Come  here,  Juliet,  come  here  at  once  !  "  her 
mother  called,  and  the  Kaffir,  in  surprise,  looked 
for  a  moment  at  the  slim,  white  figure,  standing 
there,  so  exquisitely  dressed.  Then  he  slowly 
drew  in  his  breath  through  his  broad,  distended 
nostrils,  looked  at  her  again,  and  went  on  stirring 
the  porridge. 

Breakfast  began,  and  Juliet  did  her  best  to 
swallow  the  dreary  stuff  and  imagine  her  mother's 
magnificent  new  name  for  every  spoonful  was 
reality,  while  Mrs.  Ferguson  groaned  and 
clutched  her  throat  as  though  to  keep  things  in 
their  places  when  once  it  was  down,  and  the  old 
Scot  varied  his  efforts  with  the  lines  beginning  : — 

"  Fair  fa'  your  honest,  sonsie  face, 
Great  chieftain  o'  the  pudding-race. " 

Bit  by  bit  he  had  reached  the  words  : — 

"  But  mark  the  rustic,  haggis  fed, 
The  trembling  earth  resounds  his  tread," 

when  suddenly  he  stopped  and  listened,  balanc- 
ing his  spoon  in  the  air.  There  it  came  again — 
and  there  again  !  Something  that  did  indeed 
make  the  trembling  earth  resound. 


THE    RELIEF    OF    EDEN  209 

"  It's  Duller  !  "  he  cried,  springing-  up. 
"  Buller's  at  them  again  !  Nearer  too,  much 
nearer  !  " 

All  held  their  breath  to  listen.  There  the  dull 
thunder  came,  like  a  muffled  hammer  beating  on 
a  huge  iron  tank. 

"  Cheer  up,  my  darling,  cheer  up  !  "  he  cried, 
catching  hold  of  the  child.  "  Little  Jule  soon 
get  enough  to  eat  now — real  bread  and  butter, 
real  milk,  real  sugar  soon  !  " 

He  sank  down  again  from  weakness,  but  at 
every  sound  of  the  guns  he  kept  joyfully  murmur- 
ing, "There — there — there!" 

"Bah!"  said  Mrs.  Ferguson,  licking  the  re- 
mains of  the  mealy-meal  from  the  back  of  her 
spoon.  "It's  three  months  now  since  first  we 
heard  those  guns,  and  do  you  think  Buller's  a 
yard  nearer?  Not  him!  Every  time  I  hear 
those  guns  I  go  round  in  the  afternoon  for  more 
medical  comforts,  that's  what  I  do  !  I  just  go 
up  to  the  Colonel  at  the  back  of  Filing's  store, 
and  I  say  to  him,  'Colonel,  I'm  dying  for  want 
of  medical  comforts,  and  if  you  doubt  my  word, 
look  at  my  tongue  ! '  Then  I  put  out  my  tongue 
as  far  as  it'll  go  for  him  to  see,  and  he  always 
gives  me  something.  That's  the  way  to  deal  with 


210  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

the  Imperial  army.     Buller  indeed  !     I'd  Duller 
him  !  " 

Celestine  said  nothing,  but  putting  an  arm 
round  the  child  she  listened  intently  and  ate  no 
more.  With  half-turned  head  it  seemed  as  though 
she  heard  some  dreaded  footstep  approaching  at 
every  rumble  of  the  sound. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  be  afraid,  Mrs.  What's-your- 
name,"  the  other  woman  went  on;  "for  those 
that  enjoy  starving  and  seeing  their  children  and 
other  people  starve,  there's  plenty  of  time  still. 
Nothing  but  skeletons  will  Buller  find  if  ever  he 
does  get  in,  and  it's  a  comfort  to  think  that  one 
skeleton's  much  like  another  when  we  come  to 
the  bare  bone,  no  matter  what  embroidered  under- 
linen  and  whitey-brown  flesh  some  people  may 
have  covered  theirs  up  with." 

"Yes,"  said  Celestine  cheerfully,  "I  always 
have  a  hope  that  all  the  nasty  people  in  the 
world  will  get  a  clean  start  again  at  the  resurrec- 
tion." 

"Look!"  cried  the  old  Scot;  "who's  this 
coming  over  the  drift?  Now  we'll  hear  what's 
up." 

"No  need  to  ask  who  it  is,"  said  Mrs. 
Ferguson.  "Ay,  here  he  comes,  bless  him! 


THE    RELIEF    OF    EDEN  211 

It's  really  kind  to  be  so  attentive  in  visiting  a 
poor  old  woman  like  me  every  day — let  alone 
three  or  four  times  a  day,  and  other  times  too, 
for  all  I  know." 

She  laughed  maliciously  till  she  choked,  and 
then  she  laughed  again. 

"  Never  you  mind,  Mrs.  —  Mrs. — whatever 
your  proper  married  name  may  be.  Never  you 
mind  what  people  say.  You've  always  got  the 
child  with  you — of  course  you  have — wherever 
you  go  ;  so  you're  all  right.  You're  not  a  poor 
unprotected  female  like  me  when  Ferguson's 
away." 

She  fell  to  chuckling  again,  as  rubbing  her 
skinny  hands  together  she  watched  the  man  ride 
down  the  steep  path  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river  and  urge  his  horse  into  the  deep  water. 
With  feet  thrown  forward  so  as  to  clear  the 
surface,  he  looked  across  at  the  shelter  and 
waved  his  arm.  A  tall,  spare  man  he  was,  with 
grizzled  hair  and  a  face  lined  and  burnt  by  hard 
South  African  life. 

Juliet  waved  her  hand  in  answer,  and  kept 
calling  his  name  for  joy.  Now  she  could  venture 
back  with  her  hero,  no  matter  how  fast  the  shells 
flew,  and  give  him  her  treasure  in  the  hen-house. 


212  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

But  he  was  in  haste  to-day,  and  turning  aside 
from  the  main  drift  he  rode  downstream  to  the 
shelter,  the  yellow  water  gurgling  round  his 
horse's  legs.  Celestine  went  to  the  river's  edge 
till  her  pointed  little  shoes  were  wetted,  and  she 
could  just  caress  the  starving  horse's  nose  with 
the  dainty  fingers  on  which  a  row  of  sapphires 
shone.  The  soldier  leant  forward  till  he  himself 
could  touch  her  hand. 

"  It  may  be  only  a  new  shave,"  he  said,  "but 
it  seems  as  if  something  was  really  happening  at 
last.  It  isn't  only  the  guns  ;  the  Intelligence 
people  say  the  Dutch  are  shifting  about  in  a 
queer  kind  of  way,  and  the  Colonel  has  sent  me 
up  the  hill  to  have  a  look.  Hullo,  Jule  dear ! 
Very  hungry,  is  it?" 

"Ever  so,"  said  Juliet  shyly,  clinging  to  her 
mother's  skirt. 

"  Never  mind ;  soon  get  nice  things  now ! 
Good-bye.  I  must  be  crawling  on.  By  the 
way,"  he  added,  with  just  one  glance  at  Celestine, 
"I  may  be  doing  a  little  sentry-go  on  my  own 
about  here  to-night.  I  believe  these  filthy  natives 
are  still  taking  news  through  to  the  Dutch.  Let 
me  catch  one,  that's  all !  But  good-bye — till 
we  meet." 


THE    RELIEF    OF    EDEN  213 

He  turned  back  to  the  drift,  Juliet  following 
him  with  loving  eyes.  Then  she  heard  him  en- 
couraging his  starving  horse  up  the  bank,  while 
the  poor  beast  coughed  and  coughed  again  with 
weakness. 

' 'Mother,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  Celestine, 
whose  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  running  water,  "  if 
ever  I  marry,  I'll  marry  him." 

"  Hush,  dearest,  hush!"  said  Celestine,  and 
turned  back  to  the  mouth  of  the  shelter,  where 
she  had  to  face  the  eyes  and  tongue  that  seemed 
to  strip  her  naked  before  a  whole  world  of 
women. 

But  Juliet's  little  black  head  was  already  full 
of  a  glorious  plan,  over  which  she  sat  happily 
brooding  through  the  long,  sweltering  day,  while 
at  intervals  the  Dutch  guns  scattered  shells  about 
the  town,  and  the  old  Scot  came  and  went  with 
alternate  hope  and  despair.  Celestine  first 
recast  the  trimming  of  her  hat,  and  then  cut  up 
one  of  her  white  petticoats  into  the  queer  sem- 
blance of  a  man's  shirt. 

"None  of  your  fineries  for  me  !  "  Mrs.  Fer- 
guson kept  on  declaring,  as  she  watched  her 
enviously.  "  I  never  was  one  to  care  about  out- 
sides,  and  dancing  and  kickshaws  I  abhor.  Give 


214  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

me  the  woman  that's  clean  and  wholesome,  and 
can  make  things  comfortable  about  the  house. 
I've  got  no  vanities  on  me,  and  I'm  not  one  to 
boast,  but,  thank  God,  I'm  efficient.  Yes,  that's 
what  I  am — efficient." 

Delighted  with  the  word,  she  climbed  on  to 
the  little  table,  upsetting  Celestine's  work- 
basket,  and  began  sweeping  the  roof  of  the 
shelter,  till  table  and  chairs  and  everyone's 
clothes  and  hair  were  gritty  with  a  fine  layer 
of  sand. 

From  end  to  end,  the  twelve  miles  horseshoe 
of  defence  lay  silent,  bare,  and  brown  under  the 
sun,  for  the  big  guns  had  not  enough  ammuni- 
tion to  reply  any  more,  and  the  only  sound  was 
the  occasional  thud  of  a  rifle  or  the  muffled  tread 
of  uncertain  footsteps,  as  little  groups  of  soldiers 
padded  along  the  road,  asking  from  door  to  door 
for  something  to  eat,  and  asking  in  vain  because 
there  was  nothing  left  to  give. 

"  Nothing  but  my  egg  !  "  thought  Juliet  with 
delight,  as  from  the  edge  of  the  bank  she  watched 
them  pass. 

So  the  day  wore  on,  till  at  last  the  sun  dropped 
behind  the  long  line  of  the  Blaauwbank  Hill,  and 
darkness  gathered  once  more  around  the  miser- 


THE    RELIEF    OF    EDEN  215 

able  garrison.  The  cave-dwellers  crept  back  to 
their  house  ;  Nicodemus  cooked  the  lump  of 
horse,  and  in  silence  they  struggled  with  it, 
gulping  it  down  with  a  few  spoonfuls  of  pounded 
biscuit.  Then  Celestine  tenderly  undressed  the 
child  and  laid  her  to  sleep  in  her  corner.  But  as 
she  was  going  out  after  saying  good  night,  she 
turned  back  again  from  the  door,  and  gently 
kissed  the  little  flower-like  body  inch  by  inch, 
uttering  soothing  little  sounds  of  pleasure,  like 
a  happy  leopardess  with  her  young,  while  Juliet 
laughed  with  pleasure,  and  clung  to  her  waving 
black  hair. 

Left  by  herself,  the  child  waited  with  shivering 
eagerness  till  a  brilliant  star  appeared  and  the 
waning  moon  began  to  climb  across  the  open 
window.  All  was  still,  except  that  now  and  then 
she  heard  Mrs.  Ferguson  coughing  in  the  next 
room,  and  someone  was  cutting  out  with  scissors  : 
no  doubt  it  was  her  mother.  The  old  Scot 
always  went  into  the  town  at  night  to  collect  the 
fantastic  rumours  that  flitted  up  and  down  the 
street. 

Very  softly  Juliet  got  up,  and  over  her  little 
white  nightgown  she  folded  a  dark  blanket,  Zulu 
fashion.  Noiseless  as  a  cat,  she  swung  herself 


216  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

out  of  the  low  window,  her  bare  feet  falling  with- 
out a  sound  upon  the  sandy  path.  In  trembling 
haste  she  ran  to  the  shed.  The  hen  fluttered 
and  clucked,  filling  her  with  ghostly  terrors. 
But  holding  her  breath,  she  boldly  threw  open 
the  door,  seized  her  treasure  from  its  box,  and 
held  the  latch  fast  again  before  the  crowded 
devils  lurking  in  the  corners  had  time  to  spring. 
Like  a  ghost's  shadow  herself,  she  sped  down 
the  garden  path.  The  little  white  gate  was 
open.  She  felt  the  deep  red  earth  of  the  road 
soft  under  her  tiny  feet.  She  reached  the 
withered  grass  under  the  acacias,  where  in  the 
daylight  she  had  seen  cold  chameleons  with  swivel 
eyes  crawling  among  the  branches.  She  stood 
on  the  edge  of  the  steep  bank.  Far  below,  the 
black  river  murmured  over  the  drift.  Her  breath 
came  quickly,  and  she  longed  to  call  for  her 
mother  and  be  safe  at  home  in  her  arms. 

Suddenly  a  brilliant  ball  of  light  shot  up  above 
the  Convent  Ridge.  They  were  firing  star-shell 
from  Observation  Hill,  and  for  a  moment  the 
world  was  turned  to  shining  silver.  She  looked 
eagerly  round.  No  one  was  there.  No  sentry 
was  to  be  seen.  The  star  went  out,  and  a  double 
darkness  fell.  Clutching  the  egg  till  it  almost 


THE    RELIEF    OF    EDEN  217 

broke,  she  began  to  cry  softly  with  terror  and 
disappointment.  Big  tears  ran  down  her  face  on 
to  the  Kaffir  blanket.  He  was  not  there,  and 
she  was  so  frightened. 

She  longed  to  rush  back  to  the  house,  but 
could  not  give  up  hope.  Then  she  thought  of 
the  shelter  ;  perhaps  he  had  gone  there  as  a 
secret  place  to  watch  the  drift  from.  She  found 
the  top  of  the  path,  and,  feeling  at  each  step, 
stole  down  the  bank  in  utter  darkness,  for  it  was 
turned  away  from  the  dim  moon.  Nearer  and 
nearer  sounded  the  terrifying  murmur  of  the 
water,  and  now  she  had  almost  reached  the  sandy 
platform  in  front  of  the  cavern's  mouth.  She 
peered  anxiously  before  her,  dreading  what  she 
might  see,  but  could  see  nothing.  She  had  just 
gathered  up  courage  to  whisper  her  hero's  name, 
when  above  the  hissing  and  gurgle  of  the  river 
came  a  sound  that  froze  her  heart  with  an  agony 
of  fear. 

There  were  people  in  the  cave.  They  were 
talking  quickly,  but  not  loud— just  as  ghosts  and 
devils  talk. 

"It  is  near  the  end  now,  very  near  the  end," 
said  a  low  voice. 

"Oh  no,  no!"  said  another;   "it  shall  never 


218  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

end  !  I  could  not  endure  it.  Thank  God,  we 
shall  all  die  here  !  " 

Juliet  could  not  move.  She  did  not  dare  to 
run  or  cry  out.  It  was  a  ghost  that  was  speak- 
ing, with  a  voice — oh,  how  unlike  her  dear,  dear 
mother's  ! 

"One  way  or  other  it  is  bound  to  end  within 
three  weeks,"  said  the  other.  "The  men  are 
starving.  Before  it  ends,  will  you  tell  me  one 
thing,  and  tell  me  the  truth  ?  All  those  years 
ago  when  first  I  loved  you — five  years,  I  suppose 
it  must  be " 

"It  seems  like  nearly  six  minutes,"  said  the 
woman. 

"All  those  years  ago,  whenever  it  was.  Why 
did  you  do  that  thing?  Such  a  man  as  that — 
he  wasn't  much  worse  than  anybody  else,  but 
you  knew  what  people  said  of  him.  Why  did 
you  give  yourself  to  a  man  like  that  ?  Why  did 
you  let  him — let  him — well,  marry  you,  if  that's 
the  word  ?  " 

"Yes,  dearest,  that  is  the  word.  You  don't 
know  what  that  word  means  to  such  a  girl  as 
I  was — a  dancing-girl  in  Johannesburg.  It  was 
all  wrong,  I  know  ;  of  course  it  was  all  wrong,  as 
people  say.  And  yet  I  was  good  enough  for 


THE    RELIEF    OF    EDEN  219 

him.  Oh,  won't  you  understand  ?  I  was  surely 
quite  good  enough  for  him  !  " 

"  You  knew  I  would  have  done  anything  for 
you.  You  knew  I  would  have  married  you. 
Why  did  you  give  yourself  to  him  instead  ?  " 

"Oh,  why  does  any  woman  do  these  things? 
What  does  it  matter  why  ?  " 

"  I  would  have  married  you.  You  knew  I 
would." 

"Yes,  I  knew,  I  knew  that.  That  was  just 
the  reason.  I  couldn't  trust  myself  to  say  no 
to  you  any  longer.  It  was  just  because  I  loved 
you — almost  as  much  as  I  love  you  now.  Oh, 
no,  not  nearly  so  much !  I  couldn't  do  it 
now." 

There  was  a  silence,  and  then  she  went  on, 
speaking  slowly  but  breathlessly,  as  one  who 
knows  the  end  is  near  and  yet  would  ward 
it  off. 

"You  were  the  only  joy  I  ever  had.  You  are 
still  my  dearest  joy.  You  were  all  I  ever  wanted. 
You  were  always  friendly  and  kind,  you  were  what 
is  called  polite.  Do  you  think  those  things  make 
no  difference  to  a  woman,  to  such  a  woman  as 
I  was?" 

"  I  was  very  fond  of  you,  that  was  all.     There 


220  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

was  nothing  strange  in  that.  Everybody  was 
fond  of  you." 

"I  know,  dearest,  I  know;  but  that  wasn't 
all.  You  were  so  different,  and  when  you  were 
everything  to  me,  do  you  think  I  wanted  to  lose 
you  ?  Do  you  think  I  wanted  to  see  you  turn 
away,  or  to  have  you  always  there  and  know  that 
you  despised  me  ?  Do  you  think  I  wanted  to  say 
the  one  little  word  that  would  make  you  shudder 
whenever  you  looked  at  me  ?  Oh,  my  dearest, 
do  you  think  I  want  to  say  it  now  ?  " 

"  Nothing  you  could  say  would  have  made  the 
slightest  difference  either  then  or  now.  You  could 
not  have  done  worse  things  than  I  have  done  my- 
self: no  woman  could." 

"I  know,  dearest.  It  isn't  what  I  have  done 
that  matters.  You  could  forget  all  that.  You 
are  one  of  the  men  who  could.  But  you  could 
not  have  forgotten  that  other  thing.  You 
wanted  to  marry  me.  I  should  have  had  to 
tell  you  the  truth  then,  and  how  could  I  have 
done  it?  I  was  good  enough  for  that  other  man, 
truth  or  no  truth.  Surely  I  was  good  enough 
for  him  !  " 

"Tell  me  now,  quick,"  he  said  ;  "he  may  be 
here  to-morrow." 


THE    RELIEF    OF    EDEN  221 

"  Listen  then,"  she  went  on  at  last,  "it  will 
all  have  to  end  sometime,  so  listen.  I  must  have 
been  almost  Juliet's  age.  We  crossed  a  river, 
and  for  a  day  and  night  we  struggled  on  through 
an  empty  country — my  mother  and  I.  Then  we 
came  to  a  kraal,  full  of  brownish  women  and 
little  brownish  children  about  my  size.  My 
mother  went  up  to  a  naked  and  shrivelled  old 
woman  and  said,  '  Mother,  this  is  the  English- 
man's child.  Keep  her,  and  I  will  send  you 
something  nice  every  year.  She  is  only  in  my 
way  at  Durban,  because  I'm  going  to  be  married.' 
Next  morning  she  kissed  me  and  cried  and  went 
away.  She  was  the  only  thing  that  ever  loved 
me  till  you  came,  and  she  went  away." 

The  man  said  nothing,  and  she  murmured, 
"  Now  you  know." 

Presently  she  went  on  in  a  quiet,  dreary  voice: 
"I  was  there  a  long  time,  I  don't  know  how 
long.  The  old  woman  died,  and  they  buried 
her  under  a  heap  of  stones.  An  Englishman 
came  in  a  waggon  and  saw  me  dancing  with  the 
other  girls.  He  gave  the  chief  a  cow  for  me  and 
took  me  away  in  the  waggon  to  show  as  a  curi- 
osity. He  called  me  the  Baby  of  Basutoland 
or  the  Fairy  Freak,  and  the  men  and  women 


222  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

laughed  to  each  other  when  they  saw  me.  Then 
he  sold  me  to  a  theatrical  company  because  I 
could  dance.  Yes,  I  could  dance,  at  all  events. 
You  know  that.  That  was  why  you  loved  me 
first,  my  only  true  lover.  Those  were  happy 
times  !  " 

4 'You  were  then  the  'Lovely  Andalusian  of 
Granada.' ' 

"I  know,  I  know — and  you  loved  me.  I 
couldn't  tell  you  then — not  then." 

4 'No,  you  couldn't  tell  me.  You  gave  your- 
self to  that  other  man." 

"Oh,  my  dearest,  why  do  you  stab  me  to  the 
heart?  My  heart  is  your  own." 

"  Within  a  day  or  two  he  will  very  likely  be 
here,"  the  man  went  on  in  a  little  while.  "  He 
is  sure  to  be  in  Maritzburg  now  looking  after  his 
big  contract,  and  he  will  come  up  with  the  first 
convoy  to  see  that  he  makes  a  big  profit.  When 
that  is  safe  he  will  come  for  you.  Will  you  give 
yourself  to  him  again  ?  " 

"  I  would  be  burnt  alive  first !  " 

"Then  what  will  you  do?"  he  asked. 

The  woman  moaned  drearily.  "I  don't  know," 
she  said,  "it  doesn't  much  matter.  It  will  be  all 
over  then." 


THE    RELIEF    OF    EDEN  223 

"I  will  tell  you  what  to  do,"  he  answered 
slowly  at  last.  "  You  remember  those  old  times. 
You  didn't  know  how  the  whole  place  laughed  at 
me  for  caring  for  you.  When  you  were  suddenly 
married,  they  laughed  more.  Then  I  went  up 
into  Rhodesia  with  the  expedition,  and  forgot 
about  it  till  this  war  came,  and  here  we  are  to- 
gether. If  you  had  told  me  in  those  old  days,  I 
believe  it  would  have  made  no  difference.  But  it 
might  have  done.  You  know  what  people  feel 
about  it." 

"Yes,"  she  said,    "I  know." 

"Well,  anyhow,"  he  went  on,  "it  makes  no 
difference  now.  We  have  been  four  months  to- 
gether. I  only  ask  you  not  to  give  me  up 
again." 

"Ah,  dearest,  if  it  were  possible  !  " 

"It  is  quite  possible.  At  the  relief  you  must 
get  down  to  Durban  in  the  ambulances.  In  the 
confusion  no  one  will  notice,  and  you  must  wait 
for  me  there  till  my  time  of  service  is  up.  Then 
we'll  go  to  some  other  country,  if  that  man  is 
likely  to  be  troublesome." 

"Oh,  my  dearest,  if  only  it  were  possible! 
Yes,  I  would  wait  for  you — wait  with  joy.  And 
with  what  joy  I  would  receive  you  when  you 


224  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

came!  I  would  take  you  to  my  very  heart — 
look  !  as  I  take  you  now." 

4 'You  understand,  then,  exactly  what  you  have 
to  do?" 

"My  beloved,  my  very  dearest,  the  relief 
has  not  come  yet.  We  have  still  a  few  more 
days  of  joy — a  few  hours  more.  You  can  never 
know  how  dear  you  are  to  me.  Look,  you  can 
do  with  me  what  you  like — whatever  you  like, 
dearest.  I  am  all  yours  now,  and  no  one  else's 
ever  again.  See,  I  give  you  all  my  heart!  Even 
outside  it  is  not  black,  and  inside  it  is  all  red  as 
fire  with  love  of  you." 

Again  a  dazzling  star-shell  floating  far  up  into 
the  quiet  sky  from  the  gun  on  Observation  Hill. 

"  Be  still,  dear,  be  still.  It  is  only  the  gun," 
he  whispered,  and  then  stopped  short. 

Standing  on  the  sand  outside  the  cavern's 
mouth  was  a  little  muffled  figure,  the  white  face 
and  two  white  legs  shining  in  the  steely  glare. 

"Juliet !  "  cried  the  mother,  and  in  a  moment 
was  kneeling  at  her  side,  clasping  the  child 
against  her  warm  breasts  and  pouring  out  every 
word  of  love.  The  Kaffir  blanket  slipped 
down  and  left  the  little  thing  all  white  in  the 
darkness. 


THE    RELIEF    OF    EDEN  225 

UO  mother,  mother!"  she  cried,  clinging 
round  Celestine's  neck.  "Is  it  really,  really  you? 
I  was  so  frightened.  Oh,  I  couldn't  believe  it 
was  really  you  !  You  must  never  leave  me  again 
— never,  never  !  " 

"I  never  will,  my  sweet,  I  never,  never  will! 
Did  she  have  a  bad  dream  then  and  come  out 
to  look  for  mother?" 

"No,"  said  the  child  shyly;  "got  something 
for  the  soldier-man.  It's  a  secret.  Look  !  " 

She  opened  her  folded  hand  and  showed  the 
little  white  egg  just  visible  there. 

"It's  for  the  soldier-man,  'cos  he's  so  nice," 
she  said. 

"Dear  thing!"  said  the  soldier,  "I  grudge 
that  man  your  child.  She  ought  to  have  been 
ours." 

"I  know,  dearest,  I  know  she  ought,"  Celes- 
tine  cried.  "But  now  she's  only  mine,  and  I 
can't  leave  her.  Oh,  never,  never  shall  she  go 
from  me  !  They  would  take  her  away — he  would 
send  people  to  take  her  away  !  Not  for  love  of 
her,  but  for  hatred  of  me.  People  have  no 
mercy,  I  have  found  that  out.  O  my  beloved, 
you  see  how  impossible  it  all  is  !  " 

She  had  gathered  the  child  up  into  her  arms. 
Q 


226  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

Another  star-shell  swam  into  the  sky,  and  for 
that  one  moment  he  saw  her  soft,  wild  eyes  fixed 
upon  him.  When  the  light  died  suddenly  away, 
she  said,  "  Kiss  the  little  one,  dearest." 

Juliet  stretched  up  both  her  arms,  and  held  the 
rough  head  tight  to  hers. 

"Now  kiss  me,"  Celestine  whispered,  and  in 
the  midst  of  that  long  kiss  she  murmured  with 
sobbing  breath,  "Good-bye,  good-bye,  my  only 
lover." 

"Why  are  you  crying,  mother?"  Juliet  asked, 
as  she  was  being  laid  in  her  safe  corner  again. 
"Are  you  hungry?" 

"Yes,  dearest,  hungry  to  death,"  said  Celes- 
tine. 

"So  am  I,  and  I've  got  pains,  bad  pains," 
said  the  child.  "  But  never  mind  !  Buller's 
coming  soon  with  lots  of  things  to  eat." 

"Soon,  yes,  soon!"  said  Celestine,  and  lay 
down  beside  her,  that  the  warmth  of  her  own 
body  might  deaden  the  child's  pain. 

"And  then  I  can  marry  the  soldier-man,  can't 
I,  mother  ?  " 

"  Hush,  dearest,  hush,"  said  Celestine. 

Next  morning  when  Nicodemus  went  down  to 
light  the  fire,  he  found  a  raw  egg  broken  upon 


THE    RELIEF    OF    EDEN  227 

the  ground,  and  lying  down  on  his  stomach  he 
licked  it  up,  sand  and  all,  with  his  soft,  red 
tongue.  And  in  the  afternoon  an  advance  party 
of  the  relief  entered  the  town,  and  the  sound  of 
cheering  reached  the  shelter  of  the  riverside. 


A  BALLAD  OF  GOD'S  MERCY 

"  WHY  do  you  crouch  beside  the  gate? " 

The  good  St.  Peter  said  ; 
"  From  hour  to  hour  you  sit  and  wait 

Since  first  you  joined  the  dead. 

"  Go  with  the  happy  dead,  and  stand 

Among  the  angelic  host, 
Go  up  into  the  blessed  land, 
And  take  the  harp  within  your  hand 

Like  every  blessed  ghost. 

"  Why  do  you  gaze  between  the  bars 

Down  to  the  black  abyss 
Where  the  sun  wallows,  and  the  stars 
Twinkle  with  sin,  and  o'er  the  din 

Of  hell  the  comets  hiss. 

"  Go  where  the  mystic  waters  run, 

And  there  is  never  night, 

Nor  stars  at  all,  nor  any  sun, 

For  God  is  all  their  light. 

"  Why  do  you  batter  at  the  lock  ? 

Ah,  many  knock  in  vain  ! 

To  enter  in  how  many  knock ! 

But  none  to  leave  again. 


A    BALLAD    OF    GOD'S    MERCY         229 

"Go  to  the  New  Jerusalem 

With  walls  of  jewelled  stone, 
Behold  the  Lamb  who  dwells  in  them, 
Behold  the  Maid  of  Bethlehem, 
Behold  the  Great  White  Throne  !  " 

"  Oh  what  to  me  the  crystal  sea? 

Oh  what  the  Great  White  Throne  ? 
A  voice  is  crying  to  the  sky 

Down  in  the  depth  alone  ; 
A  voice  is  crying-,  and  its  cry 

Severs  my  flesh  and  bone. 

"  All  for  her  sake  I  left  her  side 

And  turned  my  soul  to  heaven, 
That  in  the  stream  of  mercy  wide 
The  glory  of  her  body's  pride 

And  love  might  be  forgiven. 

"  I  long  for  her  to  die,  and  pray 

God's  love  to  bring  her  home  ; 
I  think  that  she  has  died  to-day, 
And  still  she  does  not  come. 

"  All  for  her  sake  I  left  her  there, 

And  if  'tis  all  in  vain, 
Hurl  me  down  headlong  through  the  air 
To  be  with  her  again. 

"  I  cried  unto  the  Lord  to  save 
Her  radiant  soul  from  hell. 
The  world  itself  almost  forgave 
The  love  that  warmed  it  well. 


230  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

' '  The  suffering  world  was  soothed  with  love 

Of  all  her  tender  grace  ; 
Is  there  no  mercy  here  above 
For  that  so  rapturous  face  ? 

"  Hers  was  a  winning  voice,  O  Lord, 

As  any  raised  in  prayer, 
It  could  caress  you  with  a  word, 
Like  a  hand  upon  your  hair. 

"  Oh,  for  that  voice  I've  waited  long, 

And  now  I  hear  it  cry !  " 
"  Nay,  list,"  said  Peter,  "  to  the  song1 

Of  angel  minstrelsy ! 

"  Of  wisdom  sing  the  seraphim, 

Of  love  the  cherubs  sing. 
Good  lack  !     What  craze  has  come  to  him  ? 
He  peers  into  the  chaos  dim, 

As  though  he  would  take  wing !  " 

"  It  is  her  voice  that  cries  from  far ! 

I  see  her  stand  alone, 
White  as  the  rain-washed  morning  star, 
Where  cruel  things  enthroned  are 
Around  a  cruel  throne. 

"  '  O  Satan,  hear  one  prayer,'  she  cries, 

'  And  I  will  do  thy  will ! 
The  soul  is  fair  though  the  body  dies, 
And  I  am  fairest  still. 


A    BALLAD    OF    GOD'S    MERCY         231 

"  '  I  have  no  fear,  I  seek  no  grace, 

I  care  not  for  their  heaven  ; 
I  only  pray  to  see  his  face 
Once  and  no  more  within  the  place 
Of  such  as  are  forgiven  ; 

"  '  Forgiven  that  he  left  our  sin 

Before  our  day  was  done, 
And  turned  to  God  with  prayers  to  win 
Some  home  for  us  to  shelter  in 
Beyond  the  moon  and  sun  ; 

' ' '  Together,  as  on  many  a  day 

Above  the  city  wide, 
When  heart  to  heart  alone  we  lay, 
And  far  below  the  world  did  go 

Adream  upon  a  tide. 

"  '  I  only  pray  to  feel  again 
Dear  love  enfolding  me 
One  little  moment,  ere  we  twain 
Disjoined  for  ever  be. 

"  '  I  only  pray — What  hand  is  there? 

What  mouth  so  poisons  mine  ? 
Dear  love,  he  rends  my  body  bare, 
He  drags  my  face  back  by  the  hair, 

This  amorous  face  of  thine ! 

"  '  The  snakes  of  hell  clasp  me  afresh  ! 

O  thou  whom  I  adore, 
This  is  love's  consecrated  flesh 
That  devils  hunger  for  ! 


232  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"  '  Oh,  not  for  them  I  held  it  fair  ! 
Oh,  keep  them  from  my  side, 
Beloved  ! ' "     And  at  love's  own  prayer 
The  gates  of  God  flew  wide. 

Down  from  the  edge  of  heaven  there  fell 

A  line  of  burning  light ; 
Down  in  the  lowest  depth  of  hell 

A  damndd  soul  stood  white. 

With  arms  entwined  in  the  dear  art 

They  had  on  earth  begun, 
They  rushed  together  heart  to  heart, 
As  when  two  flames  that  burn  apart 
Meet,  and  are  only  one. 

Their  joy  was  joy  to  all  the  dead, 
And  filled  the  silent  heaven  ; 

And  Jesus  to  the  Virgin  said, 
"  In  hell  they  lie  forgiven." 


IX 
VM   VICTIS 

IT  was  one  of  the  happiest  evenings  in  our 
lives,  for  after  a  year's  campaigning  we  were 
ordered  home.  The  orders  had  reached  us  in 
Pretoria,  and  a  terrible  journey  we  had  made  of 
it  so  far — riding  our  starved  horses  through  sting- 
ing hail  and  blue  lightning  over  the  high  veldt  to 
Johannesburg;  stuck  up  there  for  days  and  nights 
because  the  train  would  not  start  for  fear  of  De 
Wet ;  then  crawling  slowly  down  the  line,  feeling 
at  every  bridge  lest  it  should  plunge  us  into 
death  ;  camping  out  all  night  by  Viljoen's  Drift, 
with  nothing  to  eat  but  the  plunder  of  an  old 
Scotchwoman's  store  of  onions  and  tinned  milk  ; 
brought  up  sharp  next  day  by  a  patrol,  who  told 
us  the  train  in  front  had  been  wrecked  and  we 
must  wait,  just  in  the  centre  of  nothingness,  till 
the  sappers  had  cleared  the  line.  Then  at  last 
we  had  crept  into  Kroonstad  and  jolted  on  through 
233 


234  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

another  night  and  day  to  Bloemfontein.  There 
our  troubles  had  ended,  and  we  four  had  secured 
a  carriage  in  a  corridor  train  that  was  thought 
sure  to  get  through  to  the  Cape.  We  had  shelves 
to  let  down  as  beds,  and  a  smug  little  conductor 
in  uniform  to  be  tipped.  It  would  still  take  us 
two  days  and  nights  to  reach  Cape  Town,  but 
what  did  that  matter?  The  line  was  clear,  and 
we  were  going  home.  So  the  war-correspondent 
sang,  u  You'll  have  to  marry  me  now,"  the  artist 
threw  the  baggage  about  for  joy,  the  invalided 
"  Death-or-Glory  Boy  "  smoked  our  cigarettes  to 
show  he  had  no  nasty  pride,  and  I  kept  ringing 
for  the  conductor.  His  pasty  face,  his  flabby 
form,  his  expectant  servility,  filled  me  with 
delight ;  for  they  were  the  assurance  that  civilisa- 
tion was  not  far  off. 

As  we  kept  on  telling  each  other,  we  were 
"fair  fed  up  "  with  campaigning  life.  "  No  more 
corrugated  iron  !  "  "  No  more  barbed  wire  !  " 
"  No  more  horse  and  water  !  "  "  No  more  can- 
tering Colonials  !  "  "  No  more  Loyalists  on  the 
make  !  "  we  cried  in  turn. 

"Never  again  shall  I  sleep  in  a  puddle  with  a 
family  of  enteric  germs  using  my  mouth  as  a 
shelter  from  the  cold  !  "  "  Never  again  will  my 


VICTIS  235 

mare  chew  a  horse's  tail  for  hunger,  while  another 
devours  her  mane!"  "Never  again  shall  I  lie 
rubbing  my  nose  in  the  sand,  afraid  to  wipe  it  for 
fear  of  the  bullets  !  "  "  Never  again  shall  I  ask 
a  lord  to  dinner  and  give  him  half  a  teaspoonful 
of  sugar  for  a  treat !  " 

"Think  of  whisky  and  soda,  bucketsful,  with 
ice  !  "  "Think  of  seven  meals  a  day  on  board  !  " 
"Think  of  getting  into  a  bed  with  sheets!" 
"Think  of  seeing  a  woman  again!" 

"Well,  I  saw  some  at  Durban  about  six  months 
ago,  after  the  siege,  and  they  seemed  to  me 
irrelevant,  as  the  girl  said  of  reading." 

"  Poor  old  boy  !  How  you  must  have  suffered 
in  that  siege  !  You  didn't  think  Mrs.  What-was- 
her-name  irrelevant  on  the  ship  coming  out !  " 

"  You  mean  that  woman  with  the  scent-bottles  ? 
Yes,  I  remember.  I  used  to  break  one  wherever 
I  sat  down." 

"  Yes,  and  poor  old  Price  worshipped  her  down 
to  the  heels  of  her  open-work  stockings.  Good 
thing  for  him  he  got  shot,  after  all." 

"Only  hope  there's  a  lot  like  her  on  the  ship 
going  back.  None  of  your  long-range  women 
for  me  !  " 

"No,    not  like  those   Boer  girls  at   Pretoria, 


236  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

stuck  over  with  the  Transvaal  colours  like  Christ- 
mas trees." 

"  Curse  them  all!  How  superbly  they  detest 
us!" 

"  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  see  why — the  women, 
I  mean." 

"It  does  seem  against  nature,  doesn't  it? 
You'd  think  we  ought  to  be  a  pleasant  change 
after  those  hairy  Boers.  Never  mind,  we'll  have 
it  all  our  own  way  at  home." 

"Won't  we  do  ourselves  proud!  Buck  too, 
buck  like  Hades  !  " 

We  all  laughed  again,  and  the  correspondent 
began  driving  his  joy  into  the  artist's  head  with 
the  butt  end  of  his  revolver. 

"Safe  to  take  off  your  putties  and  breeches 
to-night,"  said  the  "  Death-or-Glory  Boy,"  as  I 
climbed  up  to  my  shelf  above  his  head,  and  wrapt 
myself  round  with  a  plaid  and  a  kaross  of  jackal 
skins.  Outside  it  was  freezing  hard,  and  I  watched 
the  waning  moon  moving  up  from  the  bare  horizon 
of  the  veldt  among  the  unknown  African  stars. 
The  world  seemed  full  of  glorious  light,  for  I  was 
going  home,  and  thought  only  of  the  welcome 
that  awaited  me.  Taking  some  letters  stained 
and  worn  from  my  pocket,  I  read  them  through 


V.E    VICTIS  237 

till  I  came  to  one  which  I  could  read  without  the 
light.  So,  drawing  the  green  shade  across  the 
lamp,  I  pulled  the  end  of  the  plaid  well  over  my 
head,  and  fell  softly  down  and  lower  down  into 
the  bottomless  sleep,  while  the  train  went  rumbling 
on  the  immense  plateau  towards  the  sea  and  home. 

It  must  have  been  some  hours  later  that  the 
engine  drew  up  suddenly  at  a  wayside  station, 
and  the  shriek  of  the  brake  against  the  wheels 
called  me  up  from  the  depth  of  sleep.  Into  it  I 
should  have  fallen  again,  listening  to  the  un- 
equalled silence  of  a  train  that  has  stopped,  had 
not  a  girlish  voice  suddenly  cried  out  at  the 
opposite  window — 

" Where  is  de  Boer  prisoner?  Where  is  de 
wounded  Boer?" 

She  spoke  in  that  distinct  and  childlike  staccato 
with  which  most  Boer  women  speak  English.  At 
the  same  time  I  heard  fingers  tapping  at  the 
window-pane.  Then  came  the  tread  of  the 
flabby  conductor  along  the  corridor. 

"There  ain't  no  bloomin'  Boer  here,"  he 
began,  "so  you  can  just  clear." 

"What's  that?"  shouted  the  correspondent, 
throwing  off  his  rug.  "There  is  a  Boer  here! 
There's  that  wounded  prisoner  on  that  shelf!" 


238  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"So  there  is.  I  quite  forgot,"  said  the  con- 
ductor, entering  at  once  into  the  joke.  "Be 
quick  round  by  the  door,  my  girl,  and  you  can 
have  a  look." 

Too  sleepy  to  think,  I  listened  dreamily,  and 
next  moment  I  felt  the  girl  enter  the  carriage, 
bringing  the  frosty  air  in  her  clothes.  Then  I 
felt  her  fingers  quickly — but,  oh,  so  gently  ! — 
disentangle  the  dark  plaid  over  my  head  and 
draw  it  down.  Turning  round,  I  looked  at  her. 
She  had  put  her  feet  on  the  berth  below,  and  in 
the  dim  light  was  peering  into  my  face  quite 
close.  The  ordinary  type  of  Dutch  girlhood, 
broad  of  feature  and  strong  of  bone,  her  mass  of 
straw-coloured  hair  not  to  be  hidden  even  under 
the  enormous  construction  of  her  sun-bonnet,  a 
marvel  of  washing  and  starch.  But  at  the 
moment  I  only  saw  the  wide  grey  eyes  so  near 
to  mine. 

In  them  lived  the  passion  of  unsure  and  un- 
certain hope  that  dare  not  trust  its  joy ;  the 
passion  of  pity,  and  of  an  affection  too  entire  for 
reserves.  It  was  a  look  with  which  at  the 
resurrection  a  lover's  soul,  careless  of  its  proper 
grave,  might  watch  for  the  beloved's  body  as  it 
formed  again  from  dust.  It  endured  but  for  one 


V,E    VICTIS  239 

of  those  crowded  seconds  which  last  indefinitely, 
and  then  one  by  one  I  saw  them  die — the  affec- 
tion first,  the  pity  next,  and  last  of  all  the  hope, 
so  much  the  last  that  it  seemed  to  have  grown 
old  with  lingering.  Then  indifference  came, 
and  hatred,  and  the  cold  darkness  which  is  not 
living  despair,  but  only  the  death  of  hope.  The 
fingers  still  clung  to  my  plaid,  but  one  by 
one  they  moved,  so  that  they  might  not  touch 
my  neck. 

"I'm  very  sorry,  but  there's  no  Boer  here," 
I  said. 

"  Oh,  dam  !  oh,  dam  !  "  she  cried  in  her  quick 
staccato,  slid  down  to  the  carriage  floor,  and  was 
gone.  Along  the  corridor  I  heard  her  voice  : 
"  Where  is  de  Boer  prisoner?  Where  is  de 
wounded  Boer?  " 

The  engine  whistled.  "  Come,  clear  off," 
shouted  the  flabby  conductor,  "or  I'll  have  to 
heave  you  out." 

"  Oh,  hell !  "  said  the  gentle  little  voice  from  a 
distance,  and  the  train  moved  on. 

We  all  laughed.  "That's  a  good  joke,"  said 
the  correspondent.  "  I  say,  old  man,  she  took 
you  for  one  of  your  hairy  Boers.  Oh,  dam  ! 
Oh,  hell!" 


240  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

He  imitated  the  girl's  voice  exactly,  and  we 
laughed  again. 

"  That's  the  language  they  catch  from  the 
cultured  Colonial." 

4 'Not  a  bad-looking  girl  either.  I  wish  she 
was  coming  on  the  ship." 

"Oh,  we'll  do  better  than  that.  Chuck  me  a 
cigarette,  somebody.  I  can't  sleep  a  curse." 

I  let  down  my  window  and  looked  back  along 
the  line.  The  little  station  was  already  far  away, 
but  on  the  platform  I  could  see  the  figure  of  the 
girl  in  the  great  white  sun-bonnet,  standing 
immovable.  Then  the  solitary  porter  turned  out 
the  single  station  lamp,  and  she  disappeared. 
The  waning  moon  was  now  far  up  the  sky.  Not 
a  house  or  sign  of  farm  was  anywhere  to  be  seen. 
All  around  us  stretched  the  desolate  veldt,  and 
a  few  low  kopjes  of  barren  rock  rose  far  in  front. 
They  were  the  beginning  of  the  great  Karoo 
desert,  and  I  remembered  again  that  I  was  going 
home. 


AT  SEA 

Now  the  wild-eyed  Northern  Star 
Dances  on  the  horizon's  bar, 
Dances,  rises,  vanishes, 
And  we  break  the  southern  seas. 

Nameless  constellations  stand 
White  above  a  nameless  land  ; 
London — London  lies  to-night 
Set  with  constellations  white. 

Murmuring'  to  the  swinging  tides, 
To  and  fro  her  river  slides  ; 
Down  the  streams  of  square  and  street 
Murmuring  go  the  human  feet. 

Drunk  with  life  the  city  reels, 
Joy  is  borne  on  burning  wheels, 
Lovers  come  and  lovers  part, 
Lovers  waken  heart  on  heart. 

Like  a  flame  of  lonely  fire 
Stands  the  star  of  my  desire, 
Longing  as  I  long,  she  stands, 
Empty  are  her  amorous  hands. 
241 


242  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

Both  her  hands  uncomforted 
She  would  lay  around  my  head, 
She  would  give  her  being  whole, 
She  would  give  me  all  her  soul. 

While  the  planets  go  their  way, 
She  would  hold  me  close  till  day, 
Close  to  her  heart  she  would  hold  me- 
And  I  sail  a  southern  sea, 

And  the  wild-eyed  Northern  Star 
Dances  on  the  horizon's  bar  ; 
Lanterns  at  the  masthead  high 
Swing  across  an  unhallowed  sky. 


X 

OF  YOUR  CHARITY 

EVER  since  the  siege  Michael  Roby  had  felt 
like  Lazarus  when  he  struggled  back  from 
his  cerements  into  life  again.  Worn  thin  by 
starvation  and  fever,  he  had  become  strangely 
perceptive  ;  a  double  significance  lurked  in  every 
sight ;  when  people  spoke  to  him  he  saw  their 
real  thoughts  visibly  seated  in  their  eyes,  and  the 
ghosts  would  not  lie  still  in  the  crowded  cemetery 
of  his  mind. 

When  he  returned  from  hospital  to  the  once 
familiar  town,  he  found  that  everything  was 
changed.  The  station-yard  was  blocked  with 
waggons  full  of  supplies,  among  which  Kaffirs 
yelled  and  cracked  their  streaming  lashes.  Un- 
known soldiers  tramped  up  and  down,  unknown 
officers  galloped  to  and  fro.  These  were  not  the 
people  who  belonged  to  the  place.  He  had 
come  back  like  the  dead  to  a  generation  of 
strangers. 

243 


244  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

The  horse,  which  whinnied  at  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  and  strove  to  bear  him  gallantly  down  the 
road,  was  still  shrunken  with  past  hunger,  and 
the  other  horses  sniffed  uneasily  when  they  saw 
him,  as  a  parvenu  sniffs  at  the  apparition  of  a 
poor  relation.  To  Michael  the  careless  crowd 
was  like  the  purchasers  at  the  sale  of  an  ancestral 
mansion  full  of  memories.  Ignorant  of  meanings 
and  values  they  passed  by  this  and  that.  The  pit 
in  the  middle  of  the  road  round  which  they  guided 
the  teams — what  did  they  know  of  the  orange 
flash,  the  column  of  smoke,  and  the  whirling 
fragments  when  all  faces  grew  rigid  as  the  first 
shell  burst  among  the  peaceful  houses  ?  The 
shop-front  with  the  ruined  window — what  did 
they  know  of  the  Kaffir's  blood  that  splashed  that 
wall  with  purple  as  the  man  fell  in  bits  before 
Michael's  feet  one  early  morning  before  breakfast. 
The  shattered  flagstone  in  front  of  the  bakery — 
what  did  they  know  of  the  mule-team  waiting 
there  when  a  shell  came  and  the  four  surviving 
mules  threw  up  their  heads  and  shrieked  like 
women  ?  What  did  they  know  of  the  things  that 
had  happened  in  the  little  chapel,  or  the  causes 
of  the  sickening  smells  at  certain  spots,  or  the 
best  paths  for  avoiding  them?  Michael  felt  a 


OF    YOUR    CHARITY  245 

growing  hostility  against  the  easy-going  intruders 
upon  these  fading  tragedies. 

"  How  bitterly  the  dead  must  hate  the  living," 
he  thought  to  himself,  "  if  it  is  ever  their  punish- 
ment to  return  !  " 

As  he  crossed  the  river  by  the  bridge,  the  horse 
pulled  hard  to  the  right  and  refused  to  go  on. 
"  Nice  old  thing,"  said  Michael,  "he  thinks  I 
must  surely  want  to  inquire  after  poor  Bourchier; 
but  he  was  buried  long  ago." 

He  cantered  up  the  road  towards  a  ridge  on  the 
line  of  defences,  and  again  the  horse  turned  as  a 
matter  of  course  down  a  little  path  which  the 
soldiers  had  once  marked  out  with  whitewashed 
stones. 

"  How  custom  breeds  a  habit  in  a  horse  !  "  said 
Michael.  "Can't  you  see,  the  little  tents  are  all 
gone  now?  Those  are  the  circles  where  once 
they  stood.  But  from  all  the  bare  ground  comes 
no  Irish  voice  to  cheer  us." 

From  the  ridge,  where  the  forts  of  heaped -up 
stones  remained  untouched,  the  open  veldt 
stretched  away  to  a  higher  crest,  once  held  by 
the  enemy's  guns.  Turning  to  the  left  along  a 
shallow  watercourse — just  enough  cover  from  the 
shells  in  old  days — he  reached  the  steep  path 


246  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

which  the  sailors  had  made,  and  at  the  foot  he 
was  almost  surprised  not  to  see  the  long  row  of 
contorted  forms — so  angular  and  unnatural — 
which  had  lain  there  one  Sunday  morning  under 
the  thorns.  There  was  nothing  now  but  grass 
and  stones,  and  the  top  of  the  hill  was  quiet  too. 
On  every  side  the  mountains  stood  silent  in  the 
sunshine,  except  that  above  the  furthest  precipices 
of  the  great  mountain  range  a  storm  was  gather- 
ing in  masses  of  sullen  cloud,  and  already  the 
quick  lightning  was  beginning  to  flicker  like  the 
soft  tongues  of  serpents. 

He  was  leading  his  horse  along  the  rough 
summit  towards  the  empty  gun  emplacements, 
when  suddenly  the  creature  stopped  short  with  a 
sharp  jerk  at  the  bridle,  and  stood  trembling  at 
some  object  before  him,  while  he  breathed  hard 
down  his  nostrils. 

"Silly  old  fool !  "  said  Michael.  " Haven't  you 
ever  seen  an  old  hat  before  ?  " 

He  turned  it  over  with  his  foot.  There  was  a 
little  hole  on  one  side  of  it,  and  a  large  hole  on 
the  other.  The  inside  was  stained  dark  brown. 

"  Oh,  why  did  I  leave  my  little  back  room, 
In  Ber-mond-sey  ?  " 

sang  a  soldier's  voice  close  by. 


OF    YOUR    CHARITY  247 

Michael's  breath  stopped,  and  he  looked 
quickly  round.  Wherever  he  looked  he  saw  a 
brown  figure  disappearing  among  the  stones  and 
scrubby  aloes,  and  strange  voices  called  in  his 
ears. 

"You're  charging  wrong  way,  my  man,"  they 
said.  "  I'm  going  up  again."  "  He's  down." 
"He  was  my  brother."  "Oh,  look  at  my  poor 
blood  running  out!  "  "They've  done  me,  blast 
them  !  " 

"This  won't  do,"  said  Michael,  turning  up  his 
collar,  for  the  storm  was  whirling  up  from  the 
west,  and  heavy  drops  began  to  fall.  "It  was 
just  here  we  stood  at  the  end  of  the  day.  But 
this  won't  do.  I'm  not  that  sort  of  man." 

He  dragged  the  horse  away,  and  walked 
quickly  by  the  little  track  along  the  top  of  the 
broad  ridge.  He  passed  a  few  low  walls  rudely 
piled  up  for  cover,  and  two  of  the  main  sangars, 
all  purposeless  now.  He  kept  talking  to  the 
horse  as  he  went,  but  those  brown  figures  were 
always  rising  and  looking  at  him  from  behind  the 
rocks,  and  whenever  he  turned  and  faced  them 
full  they  disappeared.  As  he  came  up  to 
the  third  sangar,  he  was  relieved  to  see  straight 
in  front  of  him  a  man  who  did  not  vanish.  He 


248  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

was  seated  on  a  large,  flat  stone  a  few  yards  from 
the  entrance,  and  the  red  tabs  on  his  collar 
showed  him  to  be  a  staff  officer.  Going  nearer, 
Michael  shouted,  "  Good  afternoon  !  "  through 
the  increasing  storm. 

The  officer  raised  his  eyes. 

"Where  is  the  regiment?  "  he  asked. 

"They  have  often  asked  where  you  were,"  said 
Michael,  for  he  knew  that  the  man  had  thrown 
up  his  commission  long  before  in  some  hot- 
blooded  outburst  of  rage. 

"Wherever  they  are,  they  will  have  heard  of 
my  death  by  now,"  the  other  went  on.  "  It  was 
not  a  bad  death.  When  they  talk  of  it  at  mess, 
they  will  say,  '  Do  you  remember  that  time  he 
got  the  goal  against  the  Nineteenth  ?  '  And  for 
a  week  they  will  think  of  me  when  they  go  to 
polo.  It  was  not  a  bad  death." 

"The  wrong  people  die  ;  that  is  the  worst  of 
life,"  said  Michael. 

"Through  my  glasses,"  said  the  other,  "I 
watched  that  Dutchman  settle  down  to  his  aim. 
He  rested  his  rifle  on  a  big  stone  to  steady  it. 
A  big,  bearded  poacher  of  a  man  he  was,  very 
indifferently  dressed.  I  saw  the  spurt  of  flame 
in  the  morning  twilight.  The  mountains  leapt 


OF    YOUR    CHARITY  249 

into  the  sky,  and  for  a  moment  my  head  felt 
rather  comfortably  warm." 

"  Probably  he  said,  « Got  him  that  time.'  And 
it  was  you  he  had  killed.  How  many  half-hearted 
and  greedy  people  we  could  have  spared  rather 
than  you.  The  wrong  people  die." 

"Would  you  have  had  me  grow  fat  and  foul  in 
clubs  and  country  houses,  till  I  slimed  away  in 
the  funeral  of  an  elderly  gentleman,  who  had  been 
in  the  army  once?  It's  true  I  did  want  to  see 
those  elephants  far  away  over  there  in  the  Portu- 
guese forests.  I  have  grubbed  for  gold  in  Alaska, 
and  stood  upon  the  unnamed  heights  above  the 
sources  of  the  Amazon.  I  have  ridden  with  cow- 
boys on  the  plains,  and  learnt  to  throw  the  bolas 
beside  the  Rio  Grande.  I  have  lurked  all  night 
in  the  Hooghli  swamps  to  watch  the  tigers  drink. 
On  the  Mongolian  deserts  my  shaggy  camels  died 
of  cold.  But  I  wanted  to  see  those  elephants  in 
the  forest ;  and  women  liked  to  have  me  with 
them.  Perhaps  it  was  a  little  hard  that  I  should 
have  to  die." 

"  Hard  for  us  all,"  said  Michael. 

"  I  wonder  what  they  thought  in  the  old  grey 
house  when  the  boy  ran  across  the  park  with  a 
telegram  from  the  War  Office." 


250  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"  There  is  a  portrait  of  you  there  in  purple 
velvet,  with  long,  fair  curls  and  a  big  lace 
collar,"  said  Michael.  "I  saw  it  once." 

"Queer,  isn't  it?"  said  the  other.  "But  it 
wasn't  a  bad  kind  of  death,  only  I  do  wish  I 
could  have  seen  those  elephants  first.  If  you 
meet  that  hairy  poacher,  give  him  my  kind  re- 
gards, and  tell  him  how  much  I  admired  the 
shot  that  bagged  me.  Good-bye  ;  remember  me 
to  the  regiment." 

He  strode  proudly  away  as  one  who  disdains 
cover,  and  left  the  cold  rock  empty  and  in- 
distinguishable. 

Michael's  horse,  with  his  bridle  tied  to  the  left 
stirrup,  was  grazing  at  ease  upon  the  long  grass, 
which  had  so  lately  been  out  of  reach  even  to  the 
starving  cavalry,  and  as  he  stood  munching  he 
looked  round  upon  the  scene  with  a  contemplative 
air.  The  storm  had  swept  round  to  the  north, 
and  lay  over  Jonono  in  purple  masses  split  by 
innumerable  shafts  of  lightning,  while  the  great 
cumulus  clouds  above  it  lumbered  slowly  onward, 
the  white  of  their  summits  blending  at  the  base 
into  reddish  brown.  But  in  the  west  the  sky  was 
delicately  clearing,  and  in  a  golden  mist  the  sun 
hung  over  the  fairy  peaks  and  massive  barriers  of  a 


OF    YOUR    CHARITY  251 

precipitous  range  already  just  flecked  with  snow. 
The  unknown  country  must  have  looked  just  like 
that  when  the  first  explorer  climbed  that  hill  not 
more  than  a  long  lifetime  before.  And  now  man 
had  done  his  worst,  and  the  scene  was  left  again 
to  the  sun  and  storm. 

Encompassed  by  the  dead,  Michael  led  the 
horse  to  the  end  of  the  flat-topped  hill  and  down 
the  zigzag  which  soldiers  had  once  made  to  their 
camp.  He  reached  the  thorns  and  the  riverside, 
and  was  laughing  at  a  vision  of  ghostly  pipers 
practising  their  heroic  skirls  and  screams  in  the 
river-bed,  while  above  them  phantom  shells  joined 
in  their  toneless  music,  when  on  the  opposite  bank 
he  saw  a  white  arm  waving  to  him.  The  signal 
came  from  a  hollow  scooped  in  the  bank,  under 
a  queer  erection  that  looked  like  a  little  fort,  and 
Michael  remembered  the  burning  afternoon  when 
he  had  helped  to  pile  that  line  of  sandbags  as  a 
protection  to  the  pit  where  they  had  nursed  a 
friend  in  his  fever.  The  sandbags  still  were 
there,  neatly  overlapping  each  other  like  bricks, 
but  the  pit  was  full  of  weeds  and  long  saplings 
shooting  from  the  yellow  earth. 

It  was  hard  work  to  get  the  horse  over  the 
river  there.  He  kept  turning  round,  backing, 


252  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

and  protesting  more  plainly  than  words  that 
never,  never  in  his  life  had  he  crossed  the  water 
there,  and  that  the  drift  was  a  hundred  yards 
further  up.  Struggling,  plunging,  and  swim- 
ming in  the  deep  holes,  they  reached  the  opposite 
shallows  at  last,  and  a  quiet  voice  observed — 

11  You  will  find  it  much  easier  to  cross  the  Styx, 
my  impetuous  friend." 

"It  was  certainly  terrible  to  see  how  easily 
you  glided  over  it  into  the  shades,"  said  Michael. 
"  We  clutched  at  your  life,  but  it  was  gone." 

1  'Yes,  it  was  a  pity,"  he  answered  ;  "  a  side- 
ways ending,  as  I  told  you  at  the  time.  Is  it  well 
with  the  Empire  ?  " 

And  like  the  Shunammite  woman  when  her 
child  was  dead,  Michael  answered,  "It  is 
well." 

The  other  smiled,  as  his  old  way  was,  and 
said — 

"You,  at  least,  have  not  changed,  you 
passionate  lover  and  hater  of  our  country. 
How  often  in  hearing  your  denunciations  I  have 
remembered  the  lines  : — 

'  Rejoice,  O  Florence,  that  thou  art  so  great, 
Spreading  thy  pinions  over  land  and  sea, 
And  bearest  a  name  so  far  diffused  in  hell.' 


OF    YOUR    CHARITY  253 

"  And  those  others  too  : — 

4 1  who  had  passed  from  human  to  divine, 
And  passed  from  time  into  eternity, 
And  passed  from  Florence  to  the  just  and  sane.' 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  speak  those  lines  now 
with  peculiar  appropriateness.  What  brevity  the 
old  fellow  had  !  But  there  is  always  something 
of  the  disappointed  lover  about  him  when  he 
speaks  of  his  country,  and  it  is  just  the  same 
with  you.  That  is  the  worst  of  expecting  a 
woman  or  a  country  to  do  what  you  wish  of 
her." 

"  She  is  a  nightmare,"  said  Michael,  " of  un- 
intentional crimes  and  uninteresting  successes." 

"  The  seas,"  he  answered,  "  gulp  and  fall 
around  her  promontories,  or  lie  brooding  there  in 
green  and  purple  lines.  Her  mountains  are  low, 
like  blue  waves  they  run  along  the  horizon,  and 
the  wind  flies  over  them.  It  is  a  country  of  deep 
pasture  and  quiet  downs  and  earthy  fields,  where 
the  furrows  run  straight  from  hedge  to  hedge. 
There  is  moorland  too,  and  lakes  with  wild  names, 
and  every  village  is  full  of  ancient  story.  The 
houses  are  clustered  round  old  castle  walls,  and 
across  the  breezy  distance  of  fen  and  common  the 
grey  cathedrals  rise,  like  ships  in  full  sail." 


254  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"And  in  the  midst  of  those  scenes,"  said 
Michael,  "  there  dwells  a  race  singularly  unpre- 
possessing, a  people  incapable  either  of  sanctity 
or  gaiety,  hard-featured,  unimpassioned,  stunted 
and  begrimed  by  poverty  and  smoke,  stupefied 
by  their  work  and  stupid  in  their  pleasure." 

"I  know  all  that,"  said  he,  laughing  sadly. 
"But  when  I  think  of  our  country  do  you  sup- 
pose I  see  an  uninspired  crowd,  stumbling  rough- 
shod and  drunken  over  the  world?  Oh,  no;  I  see 
a  lady,  lovable  and  majestic,  bounteous  in  charity 
as  in  strength.  At  her  girdle  hang  the  keys  of  the 
oceans  and  the  narrow  seas.  Into  her  hands  are 
gathered  the  reins  of  the  world,  and  her  voice 
directs  the  course  that  mankind  will  take. 
Wherever  danger  is,  her  sons  are  found.  War 
to  them  is  a  sport,  and  they  think  less  of  death 
than  of  the  loss  of  a  goal.  Saying  little  about 
liberty,  they  possess  freedom;  and  under  the 
excuse  of  money-making  they  fling  their  lives 
away  indifferently  on  the  government  of  conti- 
nents or  the  capture  of  a  little  pig." 

"The  poetic  mind  always  sees  itself,"  said 
Michael  ;  "it  is  like  the  lover's  mind,  full  of  a 
vision  as  unreal  as  sweet." 

"  Not  even  death,"  said  he,  "can  make  a  poet 


OF    YOUR    CHARITY  255 

of  my  thin  ghost ;  but  as  to  a  lover,  was  there 
ever  a  lover  who  loved  less  because  the  beloved 
sinned?  Sorrow  he  may  feel,  or  passionate 
shame,  or  murderous  rage,  but  those  are  only 
moods  of  love,  and  without  love  are  unknown. 
Put  things  at  their  lowest,  and  it  was  worth  while 
for  me  to  belong  to  a  country  like  ours.  You 
yourself  would  admit,  no  other  country  could 
have  given  me  such  a  portrait  to  paint,  so  full 
of  contrasts  and  opposing  moods.  I  could  have 
painted  them  all — the  vulgarity,  the  snobbery, 
the  hypocrisy,  and  the  greed.  But  anyone  can 
see  all  that,  and,  you  know,  it  is  only  the  diffi- 
cult that  counts  in  art.  A  lover  does  not  sing 
to  his  mistress  of  all  the  defects  so  plainly  visible 
to  her  women  friends.  It  is  his  reward  to  see 
finer  things  than  they.  And  so  in  our  country 
I  saw  hidden  things  very  difficult  to  discover — 
a  flicker  of  generosity  in  spite  of  greed,  a  gleam 
of  honour  in  the  midst  of  vulgarity,  and  some- 
where in  the  very  depths  of  hypocrisy  some  little 
grain  of  faith.  These  were  the  things  I  painted 
in  her  portrait,  being  her  lover,  and  caring  only 
to  paint  what  is  so  difficult  to  see,  and  my 
reward  would  have  been  to  see  her  grow  more 
and  more  like  the  picture  I  had  drawn.  For  the 


256  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

meanest  begins  to  straighten  up  when  you  call 
him  the  soul  of  chivalry,  a  girl  will  grow  in 
beauty  directly  you  call  her  beautiful,  and  cer- 
tainly it  would  be  the  same  with  one's  country." 

"Then  it  would  be  easy,"  said  Michael,  "to 
build  up  heaven  upon  judicious  compliments." 

"Quite  easy,"  he  answered,  "at  least  for  a 
lover  of  our  country,  such  as  I  was.  But  in  the 
midst  of  my  greatest  opportunity  I  was  cut  off,  in 
the  midst  of  the  finest  and  most  difficult  portrait, 
full  of  strange  contrasts  and  of  unexpected  lights, 
glimmering  through  masses  of  shadow.  It  is 
bitter  to  leave  a  thing  unfinished,  though  when- 
ever the  end  came  something  unfinished  must 
have  been  left." 

"  Most  men  die  too  late,"  said  Michael,  "and 
few  know  the  exact  moment  when  they  ought 
to  die  out  of  decent  respect  for  themselves." 

"At  all  events,"  he  said,  "I  was  spared  the 
pain  of  envying  my  own  past." 

"I  remember,"  said  Michael,  "one  day  as 
we  were  crossing  that  barren  flat  over  there,  and 
you  were  wondering  if  this  war  was  to  be  our 
country's  Sicilian  expedition,  a  shell  burst  some- 
where near,  and  the  nozzle  seemed  to  pursue  us 
like  a  living  snake,  leaving  a  thin  spiral  of  smoke. 


OF    YOUR    CHARITY  257 

'  What  if  it  had  spread  us  like  bone  manure  upon 
the  sand,'  you  said,  *  the  Empire  would  have 
gone  on  just  the  same.'  And  now  it  goes  on 
without  you,  but  not  the  same." 

"No,  not  the  same,"  he  answered,  smiling; 
"that  is  both  my  sorrow  and  my  reward.  You 
did  not  think  that  afternoon  that  you  were  riding 
side  by  side  with  a  ghost.  It  is  really  rather 
a  pity.  I  should  like  to  have  gone  home  again, 
to  have  stood  on  the  deck  listening  to  the  swirl 
of  the  water  along  the  great  steamer's  side. 
There  is  music — steamer  music,  you  know — in 
the  distance.  Women  are  talking  in  quiet  voices, 
and  laughing  quietly  ;  they  move  up  and  down 
with  a  quiet  rustle  of  skirts.  Five  bells  sounds, 
and  I  listen  to  the  swirl  of  the  water  as  wave 
after  wave  is  crossed  and  left  behind,  like  the 
pulses  of  time  through  which  life  passes  and 
passes  on." 

"Nor  is  it  a  recompense  for  death,"  said 
Michael,  "  that  the  whole  race  mourned  for  you." 

"For  them,"  he  answered  cheerfully,  "it  is 
some  recompense.  At  least,  I  suppose  it  is 
better  to  have  something  to  mourn  about  than 
nothing.  I  only  wish  I  had  given  them  more 
worth  the  mourning.  Nothing  was  done,  nothing 
s 


258  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

said.  Before  me  lay  the  whole  earth,  with  all 
its  variegated  surface  of  mountain  and  sea  and 
desert,  and  the  many-coloured  cities  of  men. 
Close  at  my  feet  life  glimmered  like  an  inter- 
woven tapestry  of  brilliant  and  subtle  hues. 
It  was  mine  to  see,  and  I  was  possessed  by  the 
passion  of  vision,  the  indomitable  desire  '  to 
follow  knowledge  like  a  sinking  star.'  I  had 
but  to  enter  upon  the  wide  domain  which  was 
my  spirit's  to  conquer.  Life  ! — it  was  so  full 
of  interest,  so  full  of  strange  sympathies  and 
gorgeous  colours  and  vivid  contradictions.  '  Life 
piled  on  life  were  all  too  little '  for  the  unquench- 
able passion  of  my  eyes.  Sorrow,  hatred,  envy, 
and  all  the  wild  troop  of  sins — these  were  but 
the  relieving  shadows  that  lay  in  clouds  or  flitted 
and  danced  over  the  glorious  world.  And  it  was 
mine  to  see  it  all.  Fear  and  the  commonplace 
were  laid  far  behind  me.  Fame  held  me  by  the 
hand.  Already  I  touched  the  golden  bowl. 
Then  some  insignificant  shred  of  skin  gave  way, 
some  paltry  bit  of  me  which  I  did  not  even  know 
to  exist,  and  all  was  gone.  Fame,  joy,  affection, 
the  beautiful  earth  and  the  desire  for  wisdom,  all 
were  gone.  "Then  farewell  for  ever,  horse,  and 
love,  and  dancing  !  "  as  the  gipsies  sing.  They 


OF    YOUR    CHARITY  259 

slipped  away  in  one  second  of  a  rainy  and  un- 
interesting afternoon.  You  may  perhaps  re- 
member the  occasion." 

u  Sorrow,  and  sorrow,  and  for  the  third  time 
sorrow  !  "  said  Michael,  so  that  the  other  smiled 
to  hear  that  ancient  lamentation  for  those  who 
held  the  ferryman's  farthing  under  their  tongue. 
"That  was  not  you  I  saw  with  wool  upon  your 
eyelids  and  a  linen  band  across  your  mouth. 
That  was  not  you  whom  we  lowered  at  night 
with  thin  cords  into  a  hole.  That  we  all  know 
was  not  you.  But  the  quick  spirit,  so  radiant 
with  visible  flame — how  was  it  possible  to  realise 
that  it  had  already  been  dispersed  into  nothing- 
ness, leaving  only  its  fine  habitation  empty  there  ? 
For  one  moment  it  seemed  hardly  strange  that 
men  should  so  often  have  imagined  an  immortal 
soul.  It  was  so  much  easier  to  think  of  you  set- 
ting out  from  star  to  star,  or  pacing  up  and  down 
the  perilous  front  of  embattled  spirits,  as  I  have 
seen  you  pace  on  earth.  But  you  were  dissolved 
into  our  past,  and  from  us  you  were  gone,  like 
him  who  came  to  Oxford  and  his  friends  no 
more." 

"Is  it  not  absurd,"  he  answered,  smiling  still, 
"that  a  soul  fit  to  grapple  with  the  secrets  of  the 


260  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

universe  should  think  itself  highly  favoured  if  in 
our  whole  life  it  can  behold  some  ten-thousandth 
part  of  this  tiny  speck  of  dust  we  call  the  earth  ? 
But  as  to  the  soul's  future,  you  know,  it  is  im- 
possible to  say  one  thing  or  the  other,  since  both 
are  equally  inconceivable.  That  is  a  saying  I 
remember  from  the  old  wisdom  of  which  I  strove 
to  make  myself  master  among  other  things — so 
many  other  things,  I  am  glad  to  say." 

Michael  looked  round  upon  the  empty  pit. 
There  in  the  sand  were  the  four  holes  where  the 
legs  of  the  bed  had  stood  ;  a  few  red  tiles  were 
scattered  on  the  earth,  and  the  dead  leaves  still 
hung  on  the  boughs  which  he  had  laid  across 
the  top  as  a  screen  against  the  glare  of  the 
sky  for  eyes  long  sightless  now. 

Light  was  failing,  and  here  and  there  an  un- 
known star  appeared.  He  turned  up  the  stream 
towards  the  drift,  but  as  he  approached  it  his 
horse  suddenly  swerved  and  stood  trembling  all 
over,  just  as  horses  do  when  they  mysteriously 
become  aware  of  a  quicksand  under  the  surface. 
He  moaned  with  terror,  and  stretching  his  head 
forward,  kept  moving  it  from  side  to  side  as 
though  he  was  staring  at  something  in  front. 
Michael  looked  up  and  saw  in  the  gathering 


OF    YOUR    CHARITY  261 

dusk  another  man  on  horsback  standing  across 
their  way.  His  horse  was  drinking,  and  the 
man,  leaning  backwards  with  his  hands  on  the 
hindquarters,  was  repeating  half  in  earnest  and 
half  in  jest  the  lines  : — 

"  '  The  castle  where  I  dwell,  it  stands 
A  long  way  off  from  Christian  lands, 
A  long  way  off  my  lady's  hands, 
A  long  way  off  the  aspen  trees 
And  murmur  of  the  lime-tree  bees.' '' 

The  horse  stopped  drinking  and  tried  to  walk  on 
across  the  drift,  but  staggered  pitifully  as  it  went. 

"Bear  up,  my  horse,"  said  the  man,  varying 
the  words  of  Ulysses  to  his  heart  ;  "  more  dog- 
like  things  than  this  have  we  endured.  What, 
you  poor  empty  digesting-sack  upon  four  legs  ! 
Would  you  choose  to  be  anywhere  else  in  the 
planetary  system,  champing  golden  corn  through 
an  immortality  of  satiety,  rather  than  here  ? 

"  '  But  down  the  Valley  of  the  Rose 
My  lady  often  hawking  goes, 
Heavy  of  cheer  ;  oft  turns  behind, 
Leaning  toward  the  western  wind, 
Because  .   .   .'" 

He  gathered  his  bridle  tight,  and  still  mur- 
muring the  lines,  passed  over  the  water. 


262  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

Then  Michael  remembered  that  there  are 
ghosts  of  the  living  as  well  as  of  the  dead.  They 
haunt  the  places  where  the  living  have  been 
before,  and  may  often  be  seen,  especially  by 
themselves  in  after-time.  As  a  rule  they  appear 
to  be  happier  than  they  were  in  life,  but  still  we 
feel  great  pity  for  them,  as  for  people  uncon- 
sciously approaching  the  ambuscades  of  sorrow. 

So  he  watched  his  former  self  creep  up  the 
opposite  bank  upon  his  horse's  starving  ghost, 
and  then,  repeating  those  Homeric  words,  "En- 
dure, my  soul  !  more  doglike  things  hast  thou 
endured,"  he  left  the  stream  and  turned  up  a 
deserted  little  pathway  between  the  hills,  so  as 
to  avoid  the  block  of  waggons  and  troops  in  the 
main  street.  But  indeed  he  found  the  old  cavalry 
lines  and  other  camps  so  crowded  with  familiar 
spirits  that  the  other  way  would  have  been 
quicker  after  all,  and  when  he  reached  the  top 
of  the  path  it  was  with  relief  as  well  as  regret, 
like  the  relief  of  one  who  escapes  into  solitude 
even  from  the  most  delightful  society. 

A  crimson  light  still  hung  in  the  sky,  and  all 
the  well-known  hills  and  ridges  lay  transfigured 
in  purple  robes.  Again  he  felt  the  sweet  air 
blowing  over  the  grass,  and  above  the  low  thorns 


OF    YOUR    CHARITY  263 

in  the  distance  the  big  red  moon  was  rising  up. 
Scattered  far  and  wide  on  every  bit  of  plain  or 
gentle  slope,  bright  points  of  flame  gleamed  in 
gold  and  vermilion,  while  above  them  stood  thin 
columns  of  grey  mist,  like  living  breath.  They 
were  the  camp-fires  of  the  living,  securely  making 
ready  for  another  night's  supper  and  sleep.  For 
the  world's  great  army  was  marching  forward 
upon  the  graves  of  the  past,  and  had  but  little 
time  to  consider  how  pitifully  sacred  was  the  soil 
over  which  it  trampled. 


"AFFATIM    EDI,    BIBI,    LUSI  " 

I  DO  not  greatly  care  what  may  befall 

My  soul  when  it  shall  fade  in  air  ; 
Whether  it  live,  or  live  no  more  at  all, 
I  do  not  care. 

Poor,  pallid,  gentle,  wandering,  bloodless  thing, 

That  shivers  naked  out  of  sight ! 
A  moth,  a  lonely  seabird  on  the  wing 
Has  more  delight. 

But  for  my  body,  what  shall  come  of  it — 

Dear  host  and  comrade  of  the  soul — 
I  do  deplore  the  destiny  unfit, 
That  graveyard  hole. 

Oh,  the  broad  chest  that  broke  the  swollen  wave, 

The  feet  that  were  so  swift  to  run, 
The  eyes  that  threw  a  light  so  glad  and  brave 
Back  to  the  sun. 

The  limbs  that  learnt  of  love  his  utmost  worth, 

And  burning  heart  that  loved  so  true  ! 
Sweet  Earth,  have  pity  on  a  little  earth 
That  pitied  you. 

264 


XI 
IZWA! 

"  TISTEN,  and  I  will  tell  you,"  said  the  big, 
JL/  bearded  Inchuerba,  the  Induna  of  his 
tribe,  and  as  he  spoke  he  threw  back  the  leopard 
skin  from  his  shoulder,  and  planted  the  butt  end 
of  his  spear  firmly  on  the  earth.  Its  broad,  flat 
blade  gleamed  in  the  sun  under  which  all  Zulu- 
land  lay  panting,  and  in  the  misty  haze  far  away, 
beyond  the  crinkled  surface  of  hill  and  valley,  a 
thin  line  of  the  sea  shone  like  melted  copper. 

"  Listen,  and  I  will  tell  you  ;  for  you  are  the 
greatest  of  witch-doctors,  and  can  hear  the  foot- 
step of  the  rain  before  it  comes,  and  the  words 
of  a  man's  thoughts,  though  far  away.  There- 
fore you  will  track  out  the  wild  beast  that  is 
eating  up  my  joy." 

"  Izwa,  izwa  !    Track  him  out,  track  him  out !  " 
murmured  the  men  and  women  of  the  tribe,  sit- 
ting around  in  a  dark  circle  ;  for  they  knew  why 
they  had  been  summoned  from  all  the  neighbour- 
's 


266  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

ing  kraals,  and  now  they  were  gathered  about 
their  Induna  in  a  ring,  and  from  their  black  and 
polished  skins  the  sun  was  reflected  in  streaks 
and  curves  of  light. 

4 'Listen,"  said  the  chief,  and  in  front  of  him 
the  witch-doctor  stood  silent  with  closed  eyes. 
On  his  head  was  a  pair  of  buffalo  horns,  polished 
till  they  shone  like  jet,  and  round  his  neck  hung 
a  circlet  of  the  horns  of  little  antelopes.  On  his 
chest  were  bunches  of  dark  feathers,  and  into  his 
girdle  of  wild-cat  skins  he  had  stuck  thin  knives 
and  javelins  shaped  like  claws  and  teeth.  There 
he  stood  silent  with  closed  eyes,  for  he  had 
blinded  himself  long  ago  that  he  might  hear  the 
better,  and  behold  things  far  away  and  the  spirits 
that  creep  invisible. 

"  I  have  sent  for  you  from  your  home  in  the 
mountains,"  said  the  Induna,  "for  the  sake  of  a 
great  chief's  daughter,  who  is  my  latest  and 
youngest  wife.  It  wras  in  Tongaland  I  found 
her,  where  men  are  not  tall  warriors  like  us,  but 
women  are  beautiful  as  little  spirits  walking  the 
earth,  and  in  her  father's  kraal  she  was  called 
Gonizolo,  *  the  same  as  yesterday, '  because  while 
still  so  young — so  young — she  was  perfect  in 
form,  and  never  grew  bigger  or  changed  from 


IZWA!  267 

day  to  day.  Not  much  more  than  a  year  has 
passed  since  I  married  her,  giving  two  whole 
spans  of  oxen  for  her  purchase,  because  her 
father  is  a  great  chief,  and  she  belongs  to  the 
royal  blood,  although  her  people  are  not  con- 
querors of  men  like  us.  In  four  sets  of  eight 
apiece  I  paid  the  oxen — two  full  spans  there  were 
in  all,  and  not  a  fault  to  be  found  in  any  of  them. 
They  have  not  died  of  the  sickness  nor  have  their 
tongues  turned  blue,  but  all  in  perfect  strength 
they  drag  the  great  chief's  wraggons.  He  on  his 
side  has  four  times  eight  fine  oxen,  but  I  have 
only  a  girl  that  withers  away.  She  bears  me  no 
child,  she  gives  me  no  joy.  All  day  long  she 
lies  at  the  door  of  the  hut,  refusing  food  and 
saying  no  word.  What  profit  then  have  my 
oxen  brought  me  ?  Two  full  span  there  were, 
the  very  pick  of  my  herds.  It  needs  must  be 
that  someone  wishes  evil  against  her,  for  how 
else  could  she  be  sick,  seeing  that  she  is  very 
young  ?  The  old  die  and  it  is  right,  but  how 
should  the  young  die  unless  an  evil  spirit  de- 
stroys them  ?  Someone  has  wrought  witchcraft 
upon  her  that  she  may  die  and  be  lost  to  me — 
lost  like  the  oxen  which  were  mine  only  a  year 
ago,  and  now  are  gone  from  me.  For  this  cause 


268  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

I  have  sent  for  you,  that  you  may  track  down  the 
guilty  one,  and  he  may  die.  Five  of  my  oxen — 
five  more  of  the  very  best — I  will  give  you  the 
hour  that  you  track  him  down  and  this  spear 
runs  through  his  heart.  For  Gonizolo  is  young 
as  a  snake  in  spring  ;  why  then  should  she  die 
and  be  no  profit  to  me  any  more,  though  she 
cost  so  much  to  win  ?  " 

"Izwa,  izwa  ! "  cried  the  dark  circle  of  the 
tribe  sitting  around  their  chief,  and  they  clapped 
their  hands  softly  together  as  encouragement  to 
the  witch-doctor's  skill. 

Lying  on  an  antelope's  hide  in  her  place 
among  the  Induna's  wives,  Gonizolo  raised  her 
hands  like  the  rest,  and  struck  her  pinkish  palms 
together,  making  her  rows  of  brass  bracelets 
jingle  like  little  bells.  "  Izwa,  izwa  !  "  she  cried 
like  the  rest.  "  Let  the  great  witch-doctor  track 
down  the  guilty  one  and  slay  the  evil  spirit  that 
is  sucking  at  my  heart !  " 

The  witch-doctor  now  stood  alone  in  the  midst 
of  the  circle,  and  all  who  sat  round  could  see  his 
form  dark  and  clear  against  the  sky.  For  a  long 
time  he  made  no  movement,  but  stood  with 
hands  hanging  down  and  head  bent  forward,  as 
though  listening  for  something  very  far  off. 


IZWA!  269 

Then  his  body  began  to  sway  to  and  fro,  and 
from  his  lips  came  disjointed  words  almost  in- 
audible— 

"  My  father's  father  the  snake !  It  is  the 
ancient  snake.  I  hear  him  rustling  in  the  grass, 
very  far  away.  He  is  coming  at  my  call.  Swift 
as  the  assegai  of  thought  he  moves.  The  air 
hisses  round  his  flight,  and  no  man  can  see  him. 
It  is  my  father's  father  the  snake.  In  his  eyes 
burns  the  desire  for  blood." 

At  the  word  blood  all  the  people  drew  in  their 
breath  with  satisfaction,  and  Gonizolo,  lying  in 
her  place,  laughed  softly  for  joy,  because  the 
blood  would  deliver  her  from  the  spell  of  sorcery. 
But  all  were  silent,  and  eagerly  watched  the 
witch-doctor  as  he  began  to  sway  more  and  more 
rapidly  to  and  fro,  and  then  to  turn  slowly  round, 
stamping  his  foot  hard  upon  the  earth  at  every 
turn,  and  uttering  strange  and  isolated  words, 
meaningless  except  to  the  spirits  and  deadly 
animals,  whose  names  they  chiefly  were.  For 
a  long  time  the  monotonous  dance  went  on  with- 
out a  pause,  and  by  degrees  the  people  began 
to  mark  the  stamp  of  the  witch-doctor's  foot  by 
beating  their  hands  against  their  naked  thighs. 
By  degrees  a  monotonous  chant  arose,  following 


270  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

the  cadence  of  the  dance,  and  repeating  the 
words  for  lightning,  sun,  and  fire  in  rapid  suc- 
cession. Evening  was  coming  on,  and  the  lower 
lands  outstretched  around  the  hill  were  turning 
purple  in  sunset,  but  still  the  dance  went  on,  and 
the  people  raised  the  low  chant  of  lightning,  sun, 
and  fire. 

Suddenly  the  witch-doctor  threw  up  both  arms 
high  above  his  head  with  upturned  hands. 
Again  he  seemed  to  be  listening  intently,  and  his 
sightless  eyes,  wide  open  now,  were  fixed  on  the 
depths  of  air  above  him. 

Far  away,  as  though  coming  from  another 
world,  was  heard  the  low  mutter  of  thunder. 

The  people  shivered,  and  sighed  audibly, 
knowing  that  their  call  was  heard. 

The  witch-doctor  waited  till  the  last  sound  of 
the  thunder  was  gone,  and  turning,  with  arms 
still  outstretched,  to  the  points  of  the  compass 
in  succession,  he  cried — 

"  I  see  the  north  ;  a  spirit  goes  by  upon  the 
lightning.  Let  him  tell  me  if  the  guilty  one  is 
there  !  " 

"  Izwa,  izwa  !  "  murmured  the  people,  smiting 
their  hands  gently  together. 

"I    see    the    south,"   cried    the   witch-doctor. 


IZWA!  271 

"A  spirit  goes  by  upon  the  lightning.  Let  him 
tell  me  if  the  guilty  one  is  there  ! " 

"  Izwa,  izwa  !  "  murmured  the  people,  smiting 
their  hands  gently  together. 

"  I  see  the  east,"  cried  the  witch-doctor,  "and 
there  the  sun  burns  in  a  palace  of  gold.  Let  him 
tell  me  if  the  guilty  one  is  there  !  " 

And  again  the  people  murmured,  "  Izwa,  izwa! " 
and  gently  clapped  their  hands. 

"I  see  the  west,  and  there  the  moon  dwells  in 
a  palace  of  silver.  Let  her  tell  me  if  the  guilty 
one  is  there  !  " 

And  again  the  people  murmured,  "Izwa,  izwa!" 
and  gently  clapped  their  hands. 

There  was  a  long  silence  and  the  witch-doctor 
continued  to  gaze  into  the  sky  with  upturned 
palms.  At  last  his  lips  moved,  and  he  said — 

"  I  have  called  to  the  north  and  south  ;  I  have 
called  to  the  east  and  west.  But  there  is  no 
answer  to  be  found  in  any  of  them,  for  they  have 
not  beheld  the  guilty  one,  nor  is  he  there." 

A  murmur,  not  of  despair,  but  of  renewed 
assurance,  ran  through  the  people.  They  glanced 
at  each  other  furtively;  they  nodded  their  heads, 
and  all  drew  more  closely  together,  like  those  to 
whom  the  real  point  of  interest  is  now  coming 


272  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

near.  Only  Gonizolo  was  sad,  and  with  a  weary 
moan  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  for  fear  lest 
the  search  for  her  enemy  should  fail. 

But  the  witch-doctor  spoke  again:  "I  see  the 
centre  of  the  sky.  Far  away  in  the  blue  an 
invisible  eagle  is  flying  straight  down  upon  us 
like  a  falling  stone.  He  brings  news  of  what  his 
eyes  have  seen." 

"  Izwa,  izwa  !  "  shouted  the  people,  clapping 
their  hands  eagerly  as  though  to  hound  the  seer 
on,  while  with  outstretched  necks  they  began  un- 
consciously to  creep  in  upon  the  open  circle  round 
his  feet. 

Suddenly  he  dropped  his  arms,  and  holding 
both  hands  to  his  head,  he  was  seen  to  reel  as 
though  something  from  an  immense  height  had 
fallen  into  his  brain. 

"The  guilty  one  is  among  us,"  he  said  :  "he 
is  sitting  in  the  circle  now.  I  smell  the  guilt  of 
his  soul." 

A  shout  of  wild  joy  and  vengeance  went  up 
from  all  the  people.  Men  sprang  to  their  feet, 
brandishing  clubs  and  long  javelins  in  both 
hands.  The  dark  arms  of  women  were  out- 
stretched as  though  to  grasp  the  justice  of 
heaven.  They  shrieked  to  each  other  with 


IZWA!  273 

hungry  delight,  and  the  whole  air  was  full  of 
clamour. 

11  Izwa,  izwa  !  "  they  cried,  and  their  voices  had 
the  note  of  dogs  close  upon  a  trail  of  blood. 

But  the  witch-doctor  had  fallen  silent  again, 
and  stood  dumb  and  stiff  as  in  a  trance.  One  by 
one  the  voices  died  away,  and  all  was  still  but 
for  the  quick  breathing  of  the  people  panting 
with  excitement. 

The  burning  sun  went  down  behind  the  distant 
mountains  of  Natal,  and  the  magician's  form 
stood  out  dark  and  motionless  against  the 
evening  sky.  Gonizolo  raised  herself  again  from 
the  ground  to  look  at  him.  On  his  skill 
depended  life  or  death  for  her,  and  the  longing 
for  life  was  strong  in  her  eyes.  If  his  power 
should  fail  him  now,  she  would  waste  and  waste 
till  no  more  life  was  left.  She  looked  at  the  big 
Zulu  woman  beside  her,  and  then  at  her  own 
delicate  hands  and  slender  form.  How  easily 
life  would  slip  out  of  such  a  body  as  hers  and 
be  found  no  more.  In  terror  she  struck  her  little 
hands  together  again,  and  amid  the  silence  of 
the  people  rose  her  piteous  little  cry  of  "  Izwa, 
izwa  !  Track  him  out !  Oh,  track  him  out !  " 

The  sound  of  that  plaintive  voice  and  its  lonely 


274  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

petition  broke  the  spell  of  the  people's  silence 
and  roused  them  to  new  fury.  Shouting  to  each 
other  and  wildly  gesticulating,  they  stretched  their 
long  black  arms  to  one  part  of  the  circle,  and  in 
the  gathering  twilight  their  gleaming  eyes  were 
turned  to  one  spot  like  points  of  white  ivory. 

The  witch-doctor  lifted  a  bare  and  skinny 
arm  straight  above  his  head,  and  waited  till  the 
shouting  was  hushed.  With  one  swift  stroke  he 
dropt  his  arm  like  a  sword  of  judgment,  and 
pointed  to  the  same  part  of  the  circle  as  the  rest. 

"He  is  there!"  he  cried.  "He  is  there— 
below  the  southern  star  !  " 

As  the  hand  fell  the  ring  was  broken.  To  one 
side  and  the  other  the  people  ran  for  very  life, 
falling  down  and  leaping  over  each  other  as  they 
rushed  away.  In  a  moment  a  broad  gap  was  left, 
like  the  empty  space  in  the  heel  of  a  horseshoe. 

But  in  the  middle  of  the  gap  a  man  lay  crouch- 
ing. His  arms  were  locked  round  his  knees, 
and  between  his  thighs  his  face  was  hidden.  He 
moved  no  more  than  the  dead. 

With  one  great  shout  of  rage  and  triumph  the 
crowd  saw  him  cowering  there  like  a  hunted 
beast  driven  from  cover. 

"There    he    is!     There    he    is!"    they    cried. 


IZWA!  275 

"Strike  him  down.     Strike  him  down.     Spread 
his  life  upon  the  earth  !  " 

Gonizolo  stood  up  with  the  rest  that  she  might 
see  the  man  whom  all  were  staring  at.  She 
smiled  for  eagerness  and  joy,  for  her  heart  was 
brimming  over  with  hope  and  longing  for  life. 

There  he  was — a  darker  patch  upon  the  darken- 
ing ground.  She  could  distinguish  no  more,  but 
there  he  was — her  murderer,  the  man  who  had 
called  up  an  evil  spirit  to  devour  her  life.  There 
he  was,  and  now  he  would  soon  be  dead.  The 
assegais  would  plunge  into  his  body,  and  at  once 
she  would  be  well  again.  With  a  little  sigh  of 
escape  she  whispered,  "Who  is  it?  Who  is  it?" 
and  lay  down  again  upon  her  mat. 

"  Kill  him  !  kill  him  !  "  the  cries  went  on.  "  It 
is  Manana,  Mahasha's  son.  Kill  him  !  kill  him  ! 
We  knew  who  it  was.  Manana,  Manana !  He 
called  up  the  evil  spirit.  Kill  him  !  kill  him  ! 
Make  haste  !  We  knew  he  was  the  guilty  one." 

"Manana,  Mahasha's  son,"  cried  the  priest, 
"  I  have  tracked  out  your  sin.  Confess,  that  you 
may  die  with  justice." 

But  the  man  remained  crouching  in  his  place, 
and  took  no  notice  of  the  summons. 

"Stand  up,    Manana,"   said   the   witch-doctor 


276  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

again,  "and  confess  the  sin,  so  that  you  may 
die  with  justice." 

But  the  man  moved  no  more  than  the  dead  move. 

"Stand  up,  Manana,"  said  the  witch-doctor 
again,  "and  confess  the  sin,  so  that  you  may  die, 
and  the  evil  spirit  may  depart  from  Gonizolo,  the 
Induna's  young  wife." 

Then  the  man  stood  erect,  facing  the  people. 
He  was  of  the  warrior  tribe,  and  his  hair  was 
straight  and  silky,  like  long  velvet  pile.  His 
mouth  was  thin  and  straight,  and  his  skin  deep 
black,  except  where  it  shone  in  the  evening 
light.  In  one  hand  he  grasped  two  javelins, 
but  he  stood  motionless,  with  eyes  fixed  only  on 
the  Induna,  who  was  rubbing  his  broad  spear- 
head clean  with  the  inside  of  his  leopard  skin. 
Around  in  the  wide  horseshoe  the  people  stood 
glaring  in  silence,  except  when  here  and  there 
arose  the  impatient  cry  for  blood. 

"It  is  true,"  he  said;  "I  did  it.  I  am 
Manana,  Mahasha's  son.  It  wras  I  who  brought 
an  evil  spirit  upon  Gonizolo,  the  Induna's  young 
wife.  So  kill  me,  and  the  spirit  will  depart." 

"  Kill  him  !  kill  him  !  "  yelled  the  people,  and 
many  sprang  forward  to  strike  him  down  with 
their  spears. 


IZWA!  277 

" Strike,"  he  cried,  "for  I  brought  the  evil 
spirit  upon  her.  Since  Gonizolo  came  from 
Tongaland,  what  life  have  I  had  ?  Could  I 
endure  the  hour  when  I  had  not  seen  her  ?  When 
did  I  go  hunting  ?  When  did  I  wander  into  the 
swamps  and  mountains  any  more?  Did  I  not 
lurk  all  day,  and  day  after  day,  in  rocks  and 
bushes  where  I  could  see  her  come  from  the 
kraal  ?  Did  I  not  count  her  steps  to  the  mealie 
fields,  and  only  long  that  she  would  touch  me 
with  her  feet  as  she  touched  the  earth  ?  All 
night  I  lay  in  the  mealie  fields,  for  how  could 
I  sleep  or  endure  the  hours  of  the  night?  All 
this  you  know  ;  all  this  you  have  long  known, 
for  I  took  no  care  to  hide  my  desire,  seeing  that 
it  devoured  my  life.  And  because  of  the  great- 
ness of  my  desire  the  evil  spirit  came,  for  day 
and  night  without  ceasing  I  burned  to  look  upon 
her  and  be  close  to  her  side.  And  so  at  last 
the  evil  spirit  came  and  fell  upon  her,  as  he  falls 
upon  all  who  are  too  much  desired.  Kill  me 
now,  and  make  no  delay,  for  I  have  brought 
sorrow,  and  when  I  die  the  evil  spirit  will  de- 
part." 

"  Kill  him  !  kill  him  !  "  shouted  the  people. 
"  He  has  confessed." 


278  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"  It  is  for  me  to  strike  first,"  said  the  Induna, 
as  they  began  crowding  in  upon  the  open  space 
with  their  javelins,  "for  mine  has  been  the  loss." 

So  he  went  forward  with  his  heavy  lance  truly 
poised,  and  the  eyes  of  all  the  people  grew  large 
with  expectation. 

"No,"  said  the  witch-doctor,  catching  at  his 
leopard  skin,  "let  Gonizolo  give  the  first  blow. 
Only  if  she  spills  his  blood  herself  will  the  evil 
spirit  leave  her." 

"Gonizolo,"  cried  the  chief,  turning  round  to 
where  the  women  stood,  "take  the  lance,  that 
your  own  hand  may  draw  the  blood." 

"Gonizolo,  Gonizolo!"  shouted  the  people; 
' ' strike  the  first  blow !  Make  haste,  make  haste ! " 

And  impatient  of  the  delay,  they  all  turned  to 
where  she  was  lying  with  her  face  hidden  in  her 
hands.  At  the  sound  of  her  name  she  rose  and 
came  out  into  the  open  space.  She  looked  no 
more  than  a  girl,  so  slight  and  young.  Her  skin 
was  flushed  with  purple  like  deep  black  grapes, 
and  about  her  thin  little  form  the  heavy  rings  of 
blue  beads  and  white  shone  brilliantly  in  contrast. 
The  brass  circlets  on  her  wrists  and  ankles  just 
sounded  as  she  moved,  and  a  sigh  of  expectant 
pleasure  went  round  the  gazing  crowd  to  think 


IZWA!  279 

that  a  thing  so  small  and  weak  should  strike 
blood  from  a  strong  man's  heart. 

With  eyes  fixed  on  the  earth  she  moved  swiftly 
up  to  where  the  Induna  was  waiting  beside  the 
witch-doctor,  and  took  from  his  hand  the  broad- 
bladed  assegai,  on  which  the  rising  full  moon 
cast  a  gleam  of  light.  Between  the  two  men  she 
went  forward  towards  the  place  where  Manana 
was,  and  as  she  came  near  he  let  his  javelins 
drop  and  stood  defenceless  before  her. 

"Go  forward  and  strike,"  said  the  Induna; 
"strike  just  below  his  left  breast.  It  is  enough  if 
you  make  his  blood  run  out." 

But  Gonizolo  stood  still  a  moment  and  did  not 
raise  her  eyes  from  the  ground. 

"Strike,  strike!"  yelled  the  people,  pressing 
in  closer  from  behind.  "Strike  and  let  us  see 
his  blood." 

"Strike  at  his  heart,"  said  the  Induna.  "Then 
you  will  be  well  again,  and  I  shall  not  lose  the 
price  I  gave  to  your  father." 

"Strike,  strike!"  yelled  the  crowd.  "Give 
us  his  blood  to  drink  !  " 

So  Gonizolo  grasped  the  lance  firmly  again  in 
her  little  hand,  and  went  forward  alone  to  where 
Manana  stood  waiting  for  his  death.  And  as 


280  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

she  went  she  raised  her  eyes  to  look  at  him,  and 
he  met  her  look  with  his,  knowing  that  now  he 
saw  her  for  the  last  time. 

Step  by  step  she  drew  nearer,  and  the  whole 
people  became  silent,  but  for  their  audible  gasps 
of  expectation,  as  they  craned  forward  to  see  the 
deed. 

But  when  she  had  come  so  close  that  the  blade 
of  the  spear  almost  touched  him,  Manana  said  to 
her,  "  Strike  hard  and  make  an  end.  Strike  deep 
into  my  heart.  I  brought  the  evil  spirits  upon 
you,  and  when  I  am  dead  they  will  go  away." 

"I  know,"  she  answered,  "I  know." 

Gripping  the  shaft  tighter,  with  a  quick  move- 
ment she  swung  the  heavy  spear  back  over  her 
shoulder,  and  drove  it  straight  forward  into  his  bare 
breast.  For  a  moment  it  shook  there  and  he  fell. 
For  a  moment  she  stood  shaking  like  the  spear ; 
then  she  fell  as  he  had  fallen,  drew  herself  against 
his  side,  shivered,  and  was  still.  His  heart's  blood 
reddened  her  little  brown  hand  as  it  clutched  at 
the  blade  of  the  spear. 

The  people  were  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then 
with  loud  cries  they  crowded  in  upon  the  place, 
over  which  the  Induna  and  the  blind  magician 
were  already  stooping. 


IZWA!  281 

" Stand  back,  stand  back,"  said  the  chief, 
stretching*  out  his  arms  with  a  laugh  of  exulta- 
tion. "Was  it  not  well  done?  Could  a  man 
have  done  it  better  ?  What  man  among  us  could 
have  done  it  better?" 

He  knelt  down,  and  putting  his  hand  upon 
Gonizolo's  neck  called  to  her  to  get  up,  but  she 
did  not  stir. 

"She  is  weak,"  he  said;  "the  evil  spirits 
have  sucked  her  blood,  and  now  have  left  her 
almost  without  life.  She  was  always  small  and 
weak,  but  what  other  woman  could  have  done 
so  well?" 

He  put  his  left  arm  around  her,  and  staying 
himself  on  the  spear  which  stood  upright  in  the 
man's  body  he  lifted  her  up. 

"She  is  weak,"  he  said,  "but  the  evil  spirits 
have  gone.  She  will  soon  be  well.  Gonizolo, 
the  spirits  have  gone.  Wake  and  come  away." 

But  she  fell  down  again  upon  the  dead. 

Then  the  crowd,  pressing  eagerly  round  the 
place,  began  to  whisper  to  each  other  that  she 
was  dead,  and  the  women  broke  out  into  cries 
and  wailing,  and  all  the  people  stood  round  in 
amazement,  looking  at  the  bodies  as  they  lay 
side  by  side. 


282  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

But  at  last  the  blind  witch-doctor  drew  his 
blanket  round  him  and  said  to  the  Induna,  "  Pay 
me  the  oxen,  that  I  may  go." 

And  without  looking  up  the  Induna  answered, 
u  Give  him  the  five  best  oxen,  for  he  tracked  out 
the  guilty." 

And  far  into  the  night  the  people  remained 
upon  the  hilltop  bewailing  the  Induna's  young 
wife,  whom  the  strange  spirits  that  haunt  the 
soul  had  killed  at  the  last  moment  as  they  were 
being  driven  out.  Some  of  the  men  dug  a 
deep  pit  close  beside  the  place,  and  they  lowered 
the  two  bodies  into  it,  standing  upright  on  their 
feet  as  befits  a  man  and  woman  of  the  royal 
blood,  and  they  filled  up  the  pit  with  earth,  and 
piled  a  great  heap  of  stones  on  the  top. 

But  when  the  moon  had  reached  the  middle  of 
the  sky,  the  people  went  home  to  sleep,  and  the 
dead  remained  alone  together.  And  silent  among 
the  rest,  the  Induna  also  went  home  to  his  kraal 
and  lay  down  in  his  central  hut,  with  five  wives 
in  their  separate  huts  on  one  hand,  and  four  on 
the  other. 

"  It  is  not  only  the  oxen.  Oh,  it  is  not  only 
the  oxen  !  "  he  groaned,  as  he  turned  upon  his 
leopard  skin  and  tried  in  vain  to  sleep. 


THE    DEMONIAC 

HE  knew  a  devil  lurked  within, 
Like  a  shy  rat  it  gnawed  his  heart, 
Behind  his  breast's  partition  thin 
It  roamed  at  will  from  part  to  part  • 
But  how  to  coax  the  devil  out 
Defied  the  village  art. 

They  pounded  spiders  up  with  toads 
And  mixed  them  in  his  special  bread, 
They  pricked  him  down  the  street  with  goads, 
And  rolled  him  in  the  nettle  bed  ; 
But  at  the  last  they  all  agreed 
He'd  ne'er  be  cured  till  dead. 

He  stared  upon  the  unpitying  sky, 
And  slunk  about  the  lonely  ways, 
Striving  to  hide  from  every  eye 
The  torment  of  his  haunted  face  ; 
He  knew  himself  a  creature  loathed 
By  all  the  human  race. 

He  knew  the  sentence  of  his  soul, 
From  wrack  to  wrack  condemned  to  go, 
Down  an  abyss  he  felt  it  roll 
Of  smoke  and  indistinguished  woe  ; 
"  What  have  I  done,"  he  asked  the  winds, 
"To  be  confounded  so ?  " 

283 


284f  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

Each  morning,  like  a  poisoned  wine, 
He  drank  the  memory  of  his  doom  ; 
All  day  in  horror's  shadowy  mine 
He  dug  the  galleries  of  gloom, 
And  watched  a  shapeless  thing  of  dread 
Ever  before  him  loom. 

It  was  my  lady  Rosalie 
Came  passing  up  the  village  street, 
The  sun  of  passion's  charity 
Shone  on  her  mouth  and  eyelids  sweet ; 
She  was  herself  a  bounteous  sun 
From  her  eyes  down  to  her  feet. 

He  caught  the  border  of  her  dress, 
And  clinging  to  her  knees  did  kneel, 
He  felt  her  fingers'  tenderness 
About  his  maddened  forehead  steal, 
And  the  devil  came  sliding  out  of  his  mouth 
As  easily  as  an  eel. 

Methinks  my  lady  Rosalie 
Is  of  herself  the  dull  earth's  leaven  ; 
Methinks  there  keeps  her  company 
Some  pure  and  healing  air  from  heaven  : 
One  devil  from  the  clown  she  cast, 
And  from  her  lover,  seven. 


XII 
A    LITTLE    HONEY 

did  but  taste  a  little  honey."  —  i  SAM.  xiv.  43. 


you  are,  my  heart  !  I  hoped  you'd 
-L     be  lookin'  out  for  me,"  said  the  postman, 
pushing-  open    the  little  white-barred   gate,    and 
crunching  over  the  sea-shingle  that  made  a  path 
up  Cecily's  trim  little  garden. 

"  And  who  told  you  to  be  hopin'  for  anythin' 
at  all,"  said  Cecily's  rosy  maid,  coming  shyly 
down  the  path  to  meet  him,  and  with  one  hand 
controlling  the  lilac  print  skirt  that  bulged  and 
fluttered  like  a  slackened  sail  in  the  gay  wind  of 
an  early  spring  morning;  "I  was  only  cleanin' 
the  windows  and  just  happened  to  see  you  out  of 
the  corner  of  my  eye." 

"It's  a  deal  too  pretty  an  eye  to  have  any 
corners  at  all,  I'm  thinkin',  "  said  the  postman. 

4  'Oh,    have  done  with   your  sweet   deceiving 
will   you!"   said   Biddy.      "  What's   that   you've 
285 


286  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

got  for  me,  I  wonder.  Is  it  a  letter  from  my 
young  man  over  the  say  ?  " 

"Sure,  it  isn't  over  the  say  your  young  man  is, 
and  he's  got  no  need  to  be  writin'  letters,  glory 
be  to  God  !  But  for  certain  sure  it's  a  letter 
from  over  the  say  ;  only  it  is  for  Miss  Cecily." 

"Why,  it's  from  Liverpool !  "  said  Biddy,  tak- 
ing the  letter  and  turning  it  round  and  round, 
and  then  looking  at  the  postmark  again.  "Miss 
Cecily  doesn't  know  anybody  in  Liverpool !  " 

"  Mebbe  it's  from  her  young  man,"  suggested 
the  postman  slily. 

Biddy  threw  back  her  rosy  head  and  laughed 
up  at  the  sun,  showing  all  her  white  teeth. 

"Miss  Cecily's  young  man!  Why,  she  never 
spoke  to  a  young  man  in  all  her  life,  except  only 
for  the  priest,  and  he  is  not  young !  She's  like  a 
holy  sisther,  is  Miss  Cecily." 

"  Musha,  she's  an  uncommon  good-lookin' 
holy  sister,  I'll  say  that,"  said  the  postman,  as 
though  ready  to  go  to  the  stake  for  his  conviction. 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  Biddy,  turning  away; 
"  I'll  take  the  letter  to  the  uncommon  good- 
lookin'  holy  sisther.  It's  always  the  same  with 
the  men  :  give  'em  one  thing  and  it's  somethin' 
different  they  will  be  afther.  But  I'm  not  de- 


A   LITTLE    HONEY  287 

spairin' ;  there  are  some  that  like  a  little  colour, 
and  a  bit  of  a  figure  too ! " 

"There  now,  darlin',"  whispered  the  postman, 
stealing  cautiously  a  little  way  up  the  path  after 
her,  "don't  be  hard  on  a  man  because  he's  not 
blind.  What  would  I  have  done  without  eyes  to 
see  you  with?  Sure,  I  only  look  at  the  other 
women  so  as  to  keep  on  learnin'  how  much 
betther  you  are  ! " 

"Have  done,  you  deceivin1  vagrant!"  said 
Biddy,  holding  one  hand  behind  her  and  gently 
caressing  his.  "And  now  I  must  run  up  with 
the  letter.  I  wonder  will  Miss  Cicely  have  time 
to  read  it  the  day?  She's  very  busy.  Guess 
what  she's  makin' !  " 

"  It  will  surely  be  somethin*  more  for  the 
priest  to  wear,  or  mebbe  for  the  Blessed  Virgin  ?" 

"Ah,  bless  the  man,  never  a  bit ! "  said  Biddy, 
laughing  again.  "It  is  a  weddin*  dress  she's 
makin' !  And  who  do  you  think  is  likely  to  have 
the  wearin'  of  that  weddin'  dress  this  time  next 
Wednesday?  Ah,  sure,  it  will  not  be  the  priest 
that  will  be  wearin'  it ! " 

He  tried  to  catch  her  hand  again,  but  she 
sprang  away  and  ran  laughing  up  the  path.  At 
the  door  she  turned  round,  rosy  in  the  sunshine, 


288  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

and  held  out  both  arms  to  him  in  loving  mockery. 
Then  she  pulled  her  frock  and  apron  straight, 
rearranged  her  cap  before  the  glass  over  a 
dark  engraving  of  Christ  saying  to  the  sleeping 
Peter  in  the  garden,  "  Couldest  thou  not  watch 
one  hour  ?  "  fanned  her  cheeks  with  the  letter, 
and  drew  several  long  breaths  to  steady  her 
voice. 

"Please,  miss,*'  she  said,  tapping  at  the  door 
and  going  in,  "  here's  a  letter  for  you  this  minute 
come." 

"Just  put  it  down,  please,  Biddy,  till  I  finish 
this  lily,"  said  Cecily,  without  looking  up  from 
her  work.  "  How  is  Mr.  Sullivan  this  morning  ?  " 

"Please,  miss,"  said  Biddy,  rosier  than  ever, 
4  *  when  I  saw  him  he  had  the  appearance  of  bein' 
quite  well,  thank  you." 

"The  dress  will  be  ready  by  the  time,  Biddy, 
but  I  shall  have  to  work  hard.  If  anyone  calls, 
you  must  say  I'm  too  busy." 

"Yes,  miss;  and  is  there  anythin'  I  can  be 
doin'  at  it  ?  "  said  Biddy,  looking  almost  timidly 
at  the  cream-coloured  stuff,  along  which  a  border 
of  white  silk  lilies  was  beginning  to  grow. 

"Not  to-day, ' '  Cecily  answered.  * '  To-morrow 
we'll  just  run  it  together  and  see  how  it  fits.  But 


A    LITTLE    HONEY  289 

you've  left  me  very  little  time.  You  shouldn't 
have  been  in  such  a  hurry." 

"  Please,  miss,"  said  Biddy,  looking  down 
with  an  excited  little  gasp,  "sure  it  wasn't  me 
that  was  in  a  hurry  at  all,  and  I'll  wait  for  the 
day  till  it  never  comes  rather  than  put  you  to  any 
ill  convaynience." 

"Oh,  we'll  be  ready,"  said  Cecily  cheerfully. 
"It's  best  not  to  wait  too  long  for  things." 

"Yes,  miss,  thank  you  kindly,  and  that's  what 
hes  afther  sayin',  too,"  said  Biddy,  and  departed. 

Absorbed  in  her  work,  Cecily  went  on  laying 
the  shining  white  threads  carefully  side  by  side 
till  the  outline  of  the  trim  lily  was  well  rilled  up. 
Then  she  held  it  at  arm's  length  both  in  the 
shade  and  the  sunshine  to  see  that  it  was  quite 
perfect,  pinned  a  piece  of  tissue  paper  over  it  to 
keep  it  absolutely  clean,  and  stood  up,  stretching 
out  her  arms  and  fingers  for  relief  from  the 
cramping  position. 

As  she  rose,  she  noticed  the  forgotten  letter 
lying,  face  downwards,  on  the  table.  Still  think- 
ing of  the  wedding-gown,  and  looking  at  it 
critically  with  her  head  a  little  on  one  side,  she 
took  the  letter  up  carelessly  and  tore  the  envelope 
open  without  troubling  to  read  the  address.  She 


290  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

unfolded  it,  still  without  looking,  and  then 
glanced  down. 

"  My  only  beloved!"  it  began.  Her  heart 
gave  one  great  bound  and  then  stopped  beating, 
and  then  began  beating  again  with  such  furious 
wildness  that  she  had  to  lean  both  hands  upon 
the  table  and  stand  with  her  head  bowed  between 
them  till  the  darkness  passed  away  from  her 
eyes. 

When  she  looked  down  again,  the  letter  lay 
on  the  green  cloth  open  before  her  face.  She 
did  not  take  it  up.  Her  mind  seemed  to  absorb 
the  words  in  one  long  stare,  without  reading 
from  line  to  line.  The  handwriting  was  small, 
but  singularly  clear.  Oh,  how  well  she  knew  it ! 
And  yet  it  was  changed — a  little  different — "  A 
very  little  different,"  the  thought  came  and 
passed  unconsciously  and  unrecognised  through 
her  mind. 

"  My  only  beloved,"  it  said,  "I  am  coming 
back  to  you.  To-morrow  evening — only  a  few 
hours  after  you  get  this  letter — I  shall  be  with 
you.  Only  a  few  hours  now  and  I  shall 
see  you  again,  shall  hear  you  speak,  shall  touch 
you  again — you  for  whom  I  have  longed  from 
day  to  day  through  all  these  years.  Let  me 


A    LITTLE    HONEY  291 

not  go  mad  before  the  moment  comes  !  To- 
morrow about  this  time  I  shall  be  with  you. 
Only  these  few  hours,  and  you  will  take  me 
to  your  heart,  and  the  past  will  be  forgotten. 
I  do  not  ask  forgiveness.  I  only  ask  you  to 
take  me  to  your  heart — me,  the  man  who  adores 
you,  and  never  in  all  these  years  have  loved  any 
other  but  you." 

Cecily  stood  and  gazed  at  the  letter,  not  read- 
ing it  again  or  needing  to  read  it  at  all,  but 
overwhelmed  by  the  waves  of  emotion  that  swept 
through  her  without  taking  the  form  of  thoughts 
and  made  her  limbs  tremble  against  the  table's 
edge. 

"  Then  she  is  dead,"  she  said  aloud  at  last. 

As  she  said  it,  she  looked  up.  Through  the 
open  window  she  saw  the  budding  lilacs  and 
cherry  trees  of  her  garden.  Between  their  leaves 
was  the  blue-green  water  of  the  bay,  flecked 
with  white  under  a  cheerful  wind,  and  far  across 
the  bay  stood  the  Wicklow  hills,  misty  with 
sweeping  showers  that  the  early  sun  behind  her 
cottage  touched  with  patches  of  rainbow. 

"The  lilacs  were  in  full  flower  the  day  he 
went — that  day,"  she  said.  "  I  was  just  twenty- 
three  then — and  now — in  two  more  years  I  shall 


292  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

be  thirty.  Oh,  it  is  impossible — impossible  ! 
To  be  thirty  in  two  years  !  " 

She  crossed  the  room  hastily  to  a  square 
mirror  hanging  on  the  plain,  whitewashed  wall, 
and  looked  herself  full  in  the  face.  The  in- 
creased sadness  that  came  into  her  eyes  pro- 
claimed her  condemnation.  Pulling  open  a 
drawer  in  her  writing-desk,  she  took  out  a 
photograph  and  scrutinised  it  intently. 

"I  gave  him  one  that  very  day,"  she  said, 
and  with  the  photograph  in  her  hand  she  looked 
into  the  mirror  again  and  compared  the  re- 
flection with  the  picture. 

"  Photographs  are  always  toned  down — that's 
the  worst  of  them — they  always  flatter  a  little," 
she  said,  and  then  she  looked  again.  In  the 
glass  it  was  a  face  of  singular  purity — a  nun's 
face,  anyone  would  have  said — pale,  with  quiet 
and  firmly  closed  mouth,  and  kind,  grey  eyes, 
and  masses  of  light-brown  hair  growing  low 
over  the  wide  and  upright  forehead.  The  mirror 
just  showed  the  delicate  white  neck,  like  a  lily's 
stalk,  and  the  spotless  white  collar  and  close- 
fitting  serge  dress  from  which  it  sprung.  The 
face  in  the  photograph  was  exactly  the  same 
in  feature  and  pose,  but  the  eyes  were  full  of 


A    LITTLE    HONEY  293 

laughter,  and  the  mouth  was  overflowing*  with 
winsome  mockery  and  affection  for  all  the  world. 

"  It  is  only  happiness  I  have  lost,"  she  said — 
"only  happiness  and  five  years  !  " 

She  put  the  photograph  away  again  and  stood 
still,  trying  to  realise  what  had  happened.  The 
sight  of  the  letter  lying  open  upon  the  table 
startled  her  afresh.  It  seemed  so  impossible  that 
it  should  be  there.  She  took  it  up  as  though  to 
read  it  again  more  carefully.  But  she  did  not 
read  it,  she  rubbed  it  against  her  cheek.  Then 
she  kissed  it  timidly,  just  on  the  last  word,  looked 
at  it  and  kissed  it  again.  Undoing  two  buttons 
of  her  dress,  she  drew  out  a  silken  bag,  and  took 
from  it  another  letter — the  edges  of  the  envelope 
quite  worn  through,  and  the  folds  of  the  paper  so 
thin  that  they  almost  fell  apart.  The  postmark 
was  Liverpool,  like  the  other's. 

"  Dear  old  words  !  "  she  said.  "  I  must  not 
let  you  be  jealous  of  this  strange  new  comer — you 
who  have  lived  at  my  heart  so  long." 

As  she  unfolded  it  tenderly,  it  seemed  for  the 
first  time  strange  to  her  that  the  head  on  the 
stamp  was  the  old  Queen's.  "Ah,  dear  words, 
you  belong  to  another  age,"  she  said. 

How  brown  and  faded  the  ink  was,  compared 


294  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

to  the  deep  blacks  and  purples  of  the  new  rival  ! 
She  put  the  two  side  by  side.  The  writing  was 
almost  the  same — almost !  And  yet,  as  she  had 
noticed  at  the  first  glance,  there  was  ever  so  little 
a  change.  For  all  its  delicacy,  the  new  writing 
was  not  quite  so  carefully  formed.  There  was  a 
look  of  hurry  and  impatience  at  the  finish  of  the 
words,  as  though  it  were  no  longer  worth  while  to 
maintain  so  rigorous  a  perfection.  Stooping 
down,  she  kissed  the  old  letter  passionately  over 
and  over  again  as  though  she  could  never  stop. 

"Beloved,"  she  whispered  to  it,  "my  darling, 
my  sweet  boy,  I  should  indeed  have  killed  you 
with  much  cherishing." 

Then  half  under  her  breath  she  repeated  the 
well-known  words  to  herself.  "  My  only  beloved, " 
they  began,  "I  must  send  you  one  more  message  of 
farewell  and  hope  and  perfect  love  before  we  start. 
I  am  writing  in  my  little  berth  on  the  liner. 
Thank  heaven,  I  have  got  a  cabin  all  to  myself, 
where  I  can  be  in  peace  and  think  of  all  your 
sweetness,  and  at  night  I  shall  be  alone,  and  can 
fall  asleep  thinking  of  you  as  I  always  do,  and 
wake  to  remember  my  secret  joy,  my  fair  white 
rose  among  women  who  has  given  me  her  perfect 
and  rapturous  heart — my  laughing  rose,  my  sweet- 


A    LITTLE    HONEY  295 

mouthed  girl.  Every  day  I  will  write  to  you — 
you  will  get  all  my  letters  at  once  within  a  fort- 
night from  now.  What  is  a  fortnight  ?  Since  I 
knew  you  and  all  the  world  was  changed,  I  have 
sometimes  lived  a  fortnight  without  sight  or  word 
of  you,  and  still  I  have  lived.  Every  waking 
minute  of  night  and  day  you  are  in  my  thoughts, 
I  love  the  whole  world  because  I  love  you. 

"  Dearest,  in  six  months  I  shall  be  back.  I 
know  I  am  going  to  succeed.  Think  what  a 
thought  I  have  to  urge  me  on  !  In  six  months  I 
shall  be  back,  and  when  next  the  liner  starts  with 
me,  you  will  be  at  my  side.  The  cabin  may  be 
small,  but  there  will  be  no  fear  of  anyone  else 
sharing  it  then,  and  it  will  be  big  enough — oh, 
big  enough  be  sure  !  I  will  lay  out  your  pretty 
things  and  make  it  all  so  sweet  for  you.  Your 
spare  dresses  will  be  spread  upon  the  upper  berth, 
or  hung  in  the  little  wardrobe,  and  night  and  day 
we  shall  be  together — I  and  my  sweet  white  rose 
— I  dare  not  think  of  it  or  it  will  drive  me  mad. 

"  Dearest  heart,  the  second  bell  is  ringing,  and 
the  people  who  are  not  going  with  us  have  to  get 
on  shore.  I  must  send  this  now  to  the  post  by 
someone,  so  that  you  may  have  the  surprise  of  a 
very  last  word  from  me.  Not  that  you  need  it, 


296  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

for  you  know  my  heart  is  always  yours  and  lives 
within  your  heart.  Beloved,  I  kiss  your  feet  and 
your  hands  and  your  honey  hair  and  your  laugh- 
ing mouth  and  tender  eyes,  and  one  last  long  kiss 
I  give  to  the  breast  that  holds  me  in  its  snow- 
white  shrine.  My  only  beloved,  good-bye,  good- 
bye." 

When  the  last  word  was  read,  she  folded  both 
letters  up,  put  them  together  into  the  silken  bag, 
laid  them  next  her  skin,  and  buttoned  them 
securely  under  her  bodice.  "  You  may  stay  side 
by  side  for  the  time,"  she  murmured — "just  for 
the  time,  you  understand." 

When  they  were  out  of  sight,  she  sat  down 
beside  the  table  and  hid  her  eyes  in  her  hands, 
trying  to  concentrate  all  her  thoughts  upon  the 
thing  that  had  happened.  It  seemed  as  though 
the  solid  earth  were  cut  from  under  her,  and  she 
were  floating  about  in  the  uncertain  air,  or  drift- 
ing helplessly  upon  the  opposing  currents  of  a 
tide.  How  dreary  but  persistent  had  been  the 
effort  with  which  she  had  built  up  that  little  patch 
of  ground,  where  for  five  years  she  had  struggled 
to  stand  unmoved  and  show  a  brave  face  to  the 
world  !  And  now  in  one  moment  it  was  all  gone. 
The  life  which  she  had  laboured  so  carefully  to 


A    LITTLE    HONEY  297 

make  presentable  and  useful  to  others,  and  at 
times  even  consoling  to  herself,  was  now  turned 
upside  down,  and  she  saw  that  all  her  effort  and 
pretence  had  been  in  vain.  That  consolation  which 
had  seemed  so  spiritual  had  lasted  only  as  long  as 
there  was  no  choice.  Her  strength  of  purpose 
had  melted  away  at  the  first  warm  touch.  Where 
was  that  fine  assumption  of  indifference  with 
which  month  after  month  she  had  battled  against 
malice  and  pity  alike,  till  at  last  both  had  held 
their  tongues  in  despair  at  her  rigorous  silence  ? 
Where  was  the  pride,  and  where  the  purity,  which 
she  had  planted  like  lilies  and  watered  with  tears, 
and  had  seemed  almost  to  see  on  each  side  of 
her  bed  when  she  lay  down  and  rose  up  ? 

She  raised  her  head  and  looked  round  the 
room  again.  To  herself  it  was  full  of  symbols  of 
that  long  and  unhappy  struggle  against  her  own 
soul  and  the  world.  Except  that  there  was  no 
crucifix  in  it,  and  one  plain  mirror  hung  on  the 
wall,  it  was  like  a  cloister  cell.  The  walls  and 
floor  were  bare  ;  the  two  chairs  were  of  common 
wood ;  on  the  large,  square  table  pieces  of 
needlework  were  arranged,  either  for  sale  or  for 
sending  away  to  various  churches.  Propped 
loosely  against  one  side  of  the  room  were 


298  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

designs  for  a  rood-screen  and  an  organ-case. 
How  weary  and  trivial  they  all  seemed  now — 
these  things  on  which  she  had  fed  the  dignity  of 
her  soul !  And  what  was  that  white  heap  on  the 
floor  ?  Oh,  it  was  Biddy's  wedding-dress,  and 
she  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  it  done  !  Throwing 
both  arms  out  over  the  table,  she  laid  her  cheek 
upon  the  cloth.  "  Oh,  what  shall  I  do?  What 
shall  I  do  ?  Will  no  one  help  me  ?  "  she  moaned. 

"  Please,  miss,  it's  the  butcher,"  said  Biddy's 
voice  at  the  half-opened  door. 

"  Nothing  to-day,  thank  you,"  said  Cecily, 
hastily  snatching  up  the  embroidery,  and  Biddy 
withdrew  in  awestruck  silence. 

But  she  had  hardly  gone  when  Cecily  sprang 
up  and  called  after  her,  "  Biddy,  I  forgot,  we 
must  have  something  for  to-night.  Someone 
may  be  coming,  and  perhaps  he'll  stay  to  dinner." 

"Then  we  must,  miss,"  said  Biddy;  "and 
there's  a  very  nice  little  loin  of  lamb." 

"Just  this  once — just  this  once,"  Cecily 
thought  to  herself,  "  I  might  treat  him  as  though 
he  were  mine." 

"I'm  hopin'  you've  not  had  bad  news,  miss," 
said  Biddy  shyly  when  she  came  back. 

"When  you  were  a  little  girl,"  said  Cecily, 


A    LITTLE    HONEY  299 

beginning  to  work  again,  "do  you  remember 
Miss  Williamson — Molly  Williamson — up  at  the 
Stone  House?" 

"I  wasn't  so  very  little,"  said  Biddy,  "  not 
when  she  went  away.  Kingstown's  Beauty  she 
was  called,  and  she  went  away  all  on  a  sudden. 
My  mother  used  to  be  talkin'  sometimes  of  her 
goin'  to  America." 

"  Yes,  she  was  very  pretty,"  said  Cecily. 

"We  used  to  be  thinking  she  was  like  the 
Blessed  Virgin  come  down." 

"She  was  my  dearest  friend — at  school  and 
afterwards,"  said  Cecily,  "and  now  she  is  dead. 
Her  husband  has  just  written  to  tell  me.  She 
died  in  America." 

"God  rest  her  soul!"  whispered  Biddy, 
crossing  herself. 

Neither  spoke  for  a  while,  and  Cecily  went  on 
with  the  embroidery,  trying  to  follow  the  pattern 
she  had  so  carefully  marked  out. 

"You're  not  fit  to  be  doin'  it,  please,  miss, 
you  are  not,"  said  Biddy  timidly  at  last. 

Cecily  dropped  the  stuff  on  her  lap. 

"Whatever  happens,  we  must  get  it  done," 
she  said.  "Or  wait  now!  You  shall  wear  a 
frock  that  I  once  made  for  myself.  In  the  bottom 


300  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

long  drawer  in  my  room  you'll  find  a  long  white 
parcel.  Bring  that  down  and  we'll  see." 

Biddy  came  back  at  once,  carrying  the  soft, 
white  thing  reverently  like  a  new-born  baby. 

"  Oh,  miss,"  she  cried,  as  they  laid  its  loveli- 
ness open  upon  the  table,  "I  never  knew  you 
were  ever  going  to  be  married." 

"Oh,  no;  I  was  not,"  said  Cecily,  smoothing 
it  gently  out,  and  stooping  to  smell  the  lavender 
with  which  it  was  strewn.  "  I  was  keeping  it  to 
be  buried  in." 

".  Mercy  on  us  !  "  cried  Biddy.  "Is  it  marryin' 
me  in  a  shroud  you  are  ?  " 

"There,  dear,  that's  nothing.  I  didn't  mean 
it,"  said  Cecily  soothingly.  "  It's  only  a  frock  I 
made  once  for  a  ceremony,  and  I  never  went  to 
the  ceremony,  so  I  never  wore  it,  and  you  can 
have  it  now.  Come,  try  it  on.  We  shall  have  to 
take  it  up  a  good  deal,  I'm  afraid." 

"O  Lord,  miss,"  said  Biddy  presently,  as  she 
fastened  the  tender  caress  of  softness  across  her 
breast,  "this  frock  was  never  made  for  you! 
Why,  beggin'  your  pardon,  it's  almost  too  big  in 
the  front  even  for  me  !  " 

"It  fitted  me  when  I  made  it,"  said  Cecily, 
kneeling  down  and  pinning  up  the  skirt  to  the 


A    LITTLE    HONEY  301 

right  length.  "  But  that's  five  years  ago.  I 
daresay  it  wouldn't  exactly  fit  me  now,  though  it 
might  not  be  so  much  out  as  you  think.  You 
see,  being  tall,  I  look  thinner  than  I  am.  But, 
anyhow,  it's  your  dress  now,  so  it  doesn't  matter." 

"What  time  does  it  get  dark  now?"  she  asked 
suddenly  when  the  fitting  was  over. 

"  Please,  miss,  it's  almost  light  at  second  post 
time,"  said  Biddy;  and  blushing  furiously  she 
added,  "I  mean  it  doesn't  get  dark  till  afther 
six." 

"And  the  boat  comes  in  soon  after  five,  and 
it's  half  an  hour's  walk,"  said  Cecily,  looking  out 
of  the  window.  "There,  that  will  be  all  right, 
Biddy  !  We'll  just  go  over  these  alterations 
to-morrow,  and  then  we'll  be  ready  for  anything 
that  may  happen." 

"Oh,  miss,  I  hope  nothin'  is  goin'  to  happen 
anyway  !  "  said  Biddy,  with  a  lingering  look  of 
admiration  at  the  dress  as  she  drew  the  soft 
paper  over  it. 

"Oh,  no!"  Cecily  answered  lightly.  "No- 
thing will  happen — nothing,  nothing.  Only  it's 
always  well  to  be  ready." 

She  was  alone  again,  and  again  she  tried  to 
gather  her  thoughts  and  realise  what  change  had 


302  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

come.  But  she  could  not  think,  she  could  only 
remember.  The  visions  flew.  She  saw  him  as 
she  had  seen  him  first,  that  evening,  when  she 
heard  his  name  as  the  most  distinguished  man  of 
his  year  at  Trinity  College.  She  felt  again  the 
slow  beginnings  in  herself,  when  she  trembled 
into  love  and  had  not  dared  to  call  it  by  its 
name.  And  then  came  the  tender  uncertainty 
of  the  winter's  courtship,  the  delicate  hopes  of 
every  day,  the  rainbow  hues  that  shone  from 
every  little  word  and  every  sign  of  passionate 
care.  And  last  the  sudden  change,  like  the  out- 
burst of  song  of  all  birds  at  sunrise,  that  spring 
evening  when  he  held  her  face  to  his,  and  with- 
out a  word  she  gave  him  all  her  soul  for  this 
world  and  for  ever. 

She  went  hurriedly  out  into  the  open  air  that 
she  might  breathe.  The  children  were  pattering 
along  the  road  on  their  way  from  school,  and  in 
the  town  below  a  man  was  crying  his  wares. 
The  air  was  warm  with  the  smell  of  wallflowers 
and  lilac,  and  purple  shadows  chased  the  sun- 
shine over  the  heather  on  the  mountains.  Some- 
thing— perhaps  the  smell  of  the  flowers — suddenly 
called  up  the  letters  she  had  written.  At  the 
parting  beside  the  white  gate  there — that  long 


A    LITTLE    HONEY  303 

parting  so  full  of  sorrow  and  yet  so  happy  in  its 
perfect  assurance  of  faith — she  had  promised  that 
every  morning  she  would  write  at  least  one  word 
and  keep  it  till  the  next  mail-boat.  Every  morn- 
ing she  had  written  ;  she  had  sat  under  the  lilacs 
to  write.  She  had  written  words  that  she  would 
hardly  have  dared  to  speak.  Fourteen  letters 
she  had  written.  He  must  have  received  them 
in  batches.  And  when  he  received  them  he  was 
not  alone.  Someone  else  was  at  his  side  night 
and  day.  With  a  cry  of  shame  she  leant  upon 
the  gatepost  and  hid  her  face. 

At  the  usual  time  Biddy  laid  her  food  on  the 
garden  table.  In  the  afternoon  customers  came 
— a  priest  about  the  screen  for  his  church,  and 
ladies  about  designs  for  their  dresses  at  the  first 
Viceregal  ball  of  the  season.  She  conversed  with 
them  all  as  usual,  and  sent  them  away  soothed 
and  pleasurably  expectant.  Minute  by  minute 
the  time  drew  nearer,  but  she  hardly  thought  it 
would  really  come.  When  at  last  she  heard  the 
hooting  of  the  mail-boat  putting  into  harbour,  it 
startled  her  to  remember  what  it  meant.  She 
hurried  up  to  her  room  with  its  scanty  furniture 
and  narrow  little  bed,  dressed  quickly  but  with 
care,  brushing  out  her  long  hair  again,  and 


304  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

choosing  a  black  frock  of  light  and  delicate  stuff 
that  hung  round  her  like  a  mist.  At  the  breast 
she  fastened  one  deep  amethyst  that  had  been 
her  mother's.  She  took  off  the  single  ring  she 
had  been  wearing,  and  locked  it  in  a  little  drawer 
with  the  two  letters  that  she  had  hidden  in  her 
bosom.  Then  she  looked  long  at  herself  in  the 
glass.  There  was  no  doubt  she  was  beautiful. 
She  felt  she  could  be  still  full  of  bright  attractive- 
ness. But  there  was  a  change.  It  was  not  the 
face  that  once  had  looked  back  into  her  eyes  and 
had  smiled  with  joy  to  think  she  could  look  so 
sweet  to  her  lover. 

"  He  loves  me  still,"  she  said  as  she  turned 
away  and  put  the  candles  out,  "but  it  is  only 
a  memory  he  loves.  And  I — I  must  love  only 
a  memory,  too." 

The  thin  grey  of  evening  was  turning  to  deep 
purple  now.  In  the  room  downstairs  the  fire  was 
glowing,  and  Biddy  was  laying  out  the  tea-things. 

"  Yes,  for  two,  please,"  Cecily  said.  "You 
needn't  light  the  candles.  We'll  pretend  it  is 
summer  already." 

Unable  to  be  still,  she  went  out  into  the  porch. 
The  wind  was  rising,  and  far  below  she  heard 
the  murmur  of  the  sea.  A  sea-bird  cried  as  it 


A    LITTLE    HONEY  305 

passed  through  the  darkening  air.  Listening 
intently,  she  watched  the  dim  white  gate.  Now 
a  footstep  was  coming  along  the  road — a  quick 
footstep  that  knew  the  way.  The  gate  opened. 
Somebody  was  coming  up  the  shingly  path,  and 
like  one  in  a  trance  she  went  to  meet  him. 

She  was  so  quick  that  she  got  more  than  half 
way  to  the  gate  before  they  met. 

"  Oh,  is  it  really  you  ?  "  said  a  soft,  low  voice 
— the  voice  was  still  the  same — and  two  hands 
were  held  out  to  her,  but  she  did  not  take  them. 

"  I  knew  you  would  receive  me,"  he  went  on  ; 
"I  knew  you  would  forgive  me.  You  were 
always  so  full  of  sweetness.  Oh,  I  cannot  believe 
that  I  am  really  with  you  again  !  " 

He  looked  at  the  white  face  set  in  the  blue 
of  the  coming  night.  He  put  a  hand  on  her 
arm,  but  as  he  touched  it  he  felt  ever  so  slight  a 
movement  of  resistance,  and  he  saw  that  her  eyes 
were  shut. 

"She  is  dead?"  she  said  at  last. 

He  dropped  his  hand,  and  said,  "We  are  free 
to  be  together  now." 

She  turned  away  and  moved  a  few  steps  towards 
the  house,  just  holding  out  one  hand  as  if  to 
invite  him  to  follow. 
x 


306  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"Will  you  not  speak  to  me,  dearest?"  he 
said.  "Oh,  how  passionately  I  have  desired  to 
see  you  again  all  these  years  !  And  now  I  am 
here." 

"  How  did  she  die?"  she  asked,  standing  still, 
but  not  looking  round. 

He  did  not  answer  for  a  while.  At  last  he  said, 
"It  was  her  little  baby." 

"Oh,  no,  no — not  that!"  she  cried,  shudder- 
ing away  from  him.  "Oh,  Molly,  my  darling, 
my  beautiful  Molly,  my  only  friend  !  " 

He  stood  silent,  looking  out  over  the  sea.  A 
spark  on  a  far-off  lightship  flashed  every  few 
seconds  and  went  out. 

"  Where  is  the  baby  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"It  died,"  he  said,  "both  of  them  have  died. 
It  is  as  though  the  whole  terrible  thing  had  never 
happened." 

"There  was  another  ?  "  she  said. 

"About  four  years  ago,"  he  answered.  "It 
lived  a  little  while.  She  got  to  be  very  happy 
with  it.  Then  it  died.  I  was  very  sorry  when  it 
died.  It  was  terrible." 

"Come,"  she  said.  "Tea  is  ready.  You  must 
want  it  after  your  journey." 

They  went  in  silence  up  to  the  door.     Like  a 


A    LITTLE    HONEY  307 

man  returning  from  a  dreary  city,  he  perceived 
the  breath  of  the  flowers  and  the  audible  stillness 
of  the  air,  and  gazed  at  all  the  little  details  that 
suddenly  reappeared  with  poignant  memory. 

"  It  is  all  the  same,"  he  said,  as  they  entered, 
"just  the  same  as  in  those  happy  days." 

"Yes,  it  looks  much  the  same,"  she  answered. 
"There,  sit  in  my  own  chair  by  the  fire.  Wait 
now,  and  I'll  give  you  some  tea.  You  have  come 
from  the  other  side  of  God  speed,  as  we  used  to 
say." 

"Are  you  living  alone  now,  dearest  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,  quite  alone  since  mother  went,  three 
years  ago." 

"I  saw  the  notice  in  the  papers,"  he  said. 
"  I  have  always  taken  the  Dublin  papers.  Some- 
times I  saw  your  work  mentioned.  How  clever 
you  have  always  been  !  " 

"Oh,  I  get  plenty  of  work,  I  am  glad  to  say — 
any  amount.  But  I  oughtn't  to  have  said  I  was 
alone.  Here's  Biddy.  No,  thank  you,  Biddy. 
You  needn't  light  the  candles  yet." 

"Beg  your  pardon,  miss;  sure  I  thought  it 
was  dark,"  said  Biddy,  standing  embarrassed, 
with  the  matches  in  her  hand. 

"  Never  mind  ;  we  both  like  the  firelight.     We 


308  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

shall  not  want  anything  else,  thank  you.  You 
have  brought  the  cream?" 

"  I  have,"  said  Biddy,  and  went  out  to  wonder 
in  the  kitchen. 

Left  alone,  they  said  little  to  each  other  while 
she  waited  on  him,  moving  softly  about  the  room. 
At  last  he  threw  himself  back  in  the  chair  and 
said  in  a  trembling  voice — 

" Aren't  you  glad  to  see  me,  dearest?" 

She  sat  down  on  a  low  stool  near  him  and 
looked  into  the  fire. 

"Glad!"  she  said.  "  Oh,  what  a  terrible 
question  ! " 

"You  do  not  know  what  drove  me  to  do  that 
thing,"  he  said  pleadingly,  after  a  pause. 

"Oh  yes,  I  know — I  know  enough,"  she 
sighed.  "  I  know  she  stayed  hidden  on  the 
steamer  till  after  you  had  started,  and  so  you 
married  her.  She  must  have  been  very  fond  of 
you.  I  should  have  gone  with  you  then,  only 
mother  needed  me,  and  I  was  afraid  of  hindering 
your  career." 

"  But  you  do  not  know  what  really  happened," 
he  said. 

"  It  does  not  matter  now,"  she  answered. 

"A  steward  saw  her  come  to  my  cabin  late 


A    LITTLE    HONEY  309 

that  night,"  he  went  on.  "  Next  morning1  I  tried 
to  keep  her  hidden,  but  the  captain  came  and 
swore  he'd  expose  her  before  the  whole  ship 
unless  we  could  say  we  were  married.  She  hadn't 
got  a  ticket  or  anything,  and  that  was  what  made 
him  angry.  She  had  simply  stayed  on  board 
when  the  rest  went  ashore.  Then  he  brought 
a  parson,  who  said  he  could  marry  us  and  no  one 
need  know  there  was  anything  wrong.  You 
remember  what  she  was — how  wild  and  high- 
spirited.  How  could  I  hand  her  over  to  be 
mocked  at  by  the  whole  ship  all  the  voyage? 
What  could  I  do  ?  To  have  exposed  her  to  such 
a  thing  would  have  been  worse  than  killing  her 
outright.  I  ask  you,  what  could  I  have  done  ?  " 

"  One  thing  you  might  have  done,"  she 
answered,  standing  up.  "You  might  have  got 
out  of  the  porthole  and  fallen  into  the  sea  when 
she  came.  If  a  man  had  come  to  my  cabin,  I 
should  have  done  that  rather  than  be  false  to 
you." 

"  Ah,  but  it  is  so  different  for  a  man  !  When 
a  woman  comes  and  says,  'See  how  dearly  I  love 
you !  For  your  sake  I  have  run  all  risks.  I 
have  broken  all  ties.  I  only  ask  to  be  by  your 
side.  Oh,  do  not  turn  me  away  ! '  what  can  one 


310  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

do  ?  It  is  hard  to  say  one  does  not  love  her  and 
to  thrust  her  out  when  she  offers  everything  for 
love." 

"You  mean  it  is  impolite  to  say  no,"  said 
Cecily,  gazing  out  of  the  window  into  the 
darkness. 

"  Yes,  impolite,  if  you  like  to  call  it  so,"  he 
answered  doggedly.  "It  is  hard  to  be  impolite 
to  a  woman." 

"I  have  been  impolite  to  many  men,"  she 
answered  with  a  little  laugh.  "Quite  uncompli- 
mentary !  " 

"  It  is  different  for  a  man,"  he  said  again. 

"How  pretty  she  was!"  Cecily  murmured  in 
a  changed  voice.  "O  God,  O  God,  why  is 
everything  so  horrible  ?  " 

"And  besides — besides "  he  went  on,  like 

one  who  has  set  his  face  to  get  through  some 
terrible  difficulty.  But  there  he  broke  off :  "  No, 
it's  no  good  trying  to  explain.  You  would  never 
understand.  No  woman  could." 

"The  very  cabin  where  you  had  written  that 
letter  to  me  ! "  Cecily  said,  still  staring  at  the 
blank  of  the  window.  "Was  there  no  knife  to 
run  into  your  heart  rather  than  desecrate  three 
souls  like  that?" 


A    LITTLE    HONEY  311 

"She  came,  she  loved  me,  she  had  given  up 
everything ! " 

"I  would  have  given  up  everything  and  you 
know  it — everything  except  my  faith  in  you." 

"She  was  so  beautiful,  and  we  were  alone." 

"You  said  I  was  always  in  your  heart." 

"Yes,  you  were  in  my  heart ;  you  always  have 
been.  That  made  no  difference." 

"No,  that  made  no  difference!"  she  said, 
suddenly  facing  round  towards  the  fire  so  that 
her  pale  face  glowed  red  in  its  light.  "That  I 
was  always  in  your  heart  never  made  any  differ- 
ence. Look  now,  if  I  had  been  going  away, 
loving  you  as  I  did,  and  a  man  had  followed  me 
for  love — a  handsome  man,  if  you  like — and  had 
come  to  my  cabin  at  night,  and  I  had  quietly  let 
him  stay  and  had  pleaded  that  he  loved  me  so, 
but  you  were  all  the  time  in  my  heart — what 
would  you  have  thought?  Now,  tell  me,  what 
would  you  have  thought  ?  " 

She  looked  at  him  for  the  first  time  with 
steady  eyes,  and  saw  the  firelight  gleaming  on 
silver  threads  in  his  hair.  She  was  glad  to  see 
them  ;  she  did  not  stop  to  think  why. 

He  turned  his  face  away.  "I  should  have 
gone  mad  with  envy  of  him,"  he  said. 


312  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"  Never  mind  about  him,"  she  answered. 
"What  would  you  have  thought  of  me?" 

"  I  loved  you  so  deeply,  I  should  have  forgiven 
you  anything,"  he  said  ;  "anything  in  the  world 
I  should  have  forgiven  you." 

"  Oh,  forgiveness — yes  !  What  is  the  good  of 
forgiveness?"  she  cried.  "  It  is  easy  enough  to 
forgive.  I  don't  know  what  it  means,  this  for- 
giveness that  people  talk  about !  What  can  it 
do?  Can  it  alter  the  past?  Can  it  make  the 
present  different  from  what  it  is  ?  Can  it  undo 
the  change  that  has  come  ?  If  you  said  to  me, 
'  I  forgive  you, '  would  it  make  me  what  I  was 
before  ?  Would  it  make  yourself  what  you  were 
before?  Would  it  ever  bring  back  to  you  the 
thing  you  had  loved,  or  the  spirit  you  loved  it 
with?  Forgiveness?  It  doesn't  seem  to  me  to 
mean  anything  at  all." 

"And  yet  people  call  it  divine,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  I  know — I  know,"  she  cried,  pacing  up 
and  down  the  room  with  her  hands  clasped 
behind  her  head.  "  It  may  be  divine,  of  course. 
I  can't  say.  I  am  only  a  woman,  and  I  know 
that  to  me  it  is  meaningless.  As  you  said  of 
something  else,  it  makes  no  difference." 

His  head  sank  upon  his  arms  as  she  spoke. 


A    LITTLE    HONEY  313 

She  stopped  beside  him  and  laid  a  hand  ever  so 
gently  on  his  hair. 

"Dear  head,"  she  said,  "that  was  dearest  of 
all  things  to  me.  Dear  head,  that  was  so  full  of 
noble  thoughts  and  glorious  hope — that  was  so 
tender  to  me — to  me  and  to  everyone !  Too 
tender  you  were  to  everyone,  too  much  afraid  of 
giving  pain.  Dear  head,  that  once  loved  me  so 
truly,  how  I  would  have  cherished  you  by  day 
and  night  upon  my  heart !  " 

"O  God,"  he  groaned,  his  face  still  hidden 
in  his  arms,  "will  you  have  no  mercy — no 
mercy  on  the  man  who  has  loved  you  all  these 
years?" 

"  Ah,  yes,"  she  sighed.  "  Mercy  is  as  easy  as 
forgiveness.  Only  tell  me  what  the  real  mercy 
is!" 

"Come  back  with  me  in  the  ship — come  to- 
night, to-morrow,  next  week,  when  you  like," 
he  cried.  "I  can  wait  for  you.  I  have  waited 
five  years." 

"Was  it  five  hours  you  waited  after  you  wrote 
me  that  letter  in  the  cabin?"  she  said  softly. 
"Was  it  as  much  as  five?  In  that  very  same 
cabin  !  " 

"  Oh,  do  not  think  of  that  for  ever  !  "  he  said. 


314  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"That  was  nothing — a  moment's  temptation — 
a  rush  of  passionate  desire.  Before  the  night 
turned,  the  bitterness  of  regret  had  come,  and 
it  has  lasted  ever  since." 

"I  know  it  was  nothing,"  she  answered.  "I 
know  it  was  a  moment's  temptation.  But  with 
the  turn  of  the  night  the  moon  and  stars  were 
changed,  and  the  sun — oh,  the  sun  has  never 
risen  since  !  " 

"  Do  you  think,"  he  asked,  looking  up  at  her — 
"do  you  think  the  best  of  men  are  faithful,  as  it 
is  called,  to  the  woman  they  love  ?  How  should 
you  know  what  wild  beasts  we  are  where  women 
are  concerned  ?  " 

"O  Molly,"  she  cried,  turning  from  him,  "if 
only  you  were  alive  again,  that  I  might  stand  by 
your  side  in  all  your  pain." 

For  a  long  time  they  were  silent,  she  standing 
by  the  fireplace  with  her  face  in  deep  shadow, 
and  watching  the  light  of  the  flames  upon  his 
deeply  cut  features,  and  the  strong  lines  across 
his  forehead. 

"I  have  been  very  successful,"  he  said  sud- 
denly, though  for  some  unrealised  reason  she 
had  been  expecting  him  to  say  it. 

"  I  am  so  glad,"  she  said  ;    "I  never  doubted 


A    LITTLE    HONEY  315 

you  would  be.  I  was  only  afraid  you  might 
not  have  enough  hardness  of  heart." 

"  I  have  gained  that  too,"  he  said. 

" That's  right,"  she  answered.  "One  needs 
it  for  success." 

"I  need  only  you  to  complete  my  life,"  he 
went  on.  "I  have  always  needed  you.  You 
are  a  necessity  to  me — now  more  than  ever." 

"  Now  that  she  is  dead,"  Cecily  murmured. 

"Oh,  do  not  mock  me  any  more,"  he  cried, 
starting  up  and  coming  towards  her  impetuously, 
till  his  coat  touched  her  filmy  dress.  "I  love 
you  passionately.  I  love  you  body  and  soul. 
Come  with  me.  I  have  longed  for  you  for 
five  years.  Come  with  me  this  very  night." 

She  felt  herself  swing  and  totter.  She  almost 
reeled  as  she  leant  back  against  the  mantelpiece. 

"What  ghost  would  be  between  us?"  she 
gasped. 

"Why  do  you  speak  as  if  I  had  murdered 
her?"  he  said,  still  standing  close  to  her  side. 
"  I  did  not  murder  her  at  all.  I  was  always  very 
kind  to  her.  There  is  no  reason  why  she  should 
haunt  us." 

"Ah,  dear  one,"  she  said  quietly  now,  "it 
was  not  her  ghost  I  saw.  It  was  the  ghost  of 


316  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

ourselves,  the  ghost  of  what  we  were  once,  and 
might  have  been.  God  forgive  me,  I  was  not 
thinking  of  her.  I  have  thought  of  her  very 
little.  Oh,  it  is  horrible — horrible  !  Think  what 
it  must  have  been  for  her.  Did  she  speak  of  me?" 

"We  never  said  your  name — never  once.  But 
she  never  stopped  thinking  of  you  day  or  night, 
just  as  I  never  stopped.  That  thought  was  a 
ghost  lying  between  us,  if  you  will,"  he  added 
bitterly. 

"Did  she  never  stop — not  even — not  even 
when  those  things  you  spoke  of  happened.  I 
mean  when  her  children  were  born,"  she  said, 
turning  to  the  fire  again. 

"Then  least  of  all,"  he  said,  sitting  down 
gloomily;  "those  were  the  worst  times.  She 
was  full  of  superstitions,  and  all  her  terrors 
came  true.  She  made  them  come  true.  That 
was  the  thing  that  killed  her.  She  kept  thinking 
— thinking.  I  was  always  very  kind  to  her — 
always." 

"  If  you  had  but  been  unkind  at  the  very  be- 
ginning— at  the  very  beginning  !  Did  I  not  say 
hardness  of  heart  was  the  only  thing  you  needed? 
Look  what  cruelty  has  been  done  through  pity 
and  politeness  !  " 


A    LITTLE    HONEY  317 

"It  was  not  only  pity  and  politeness,"  he 
answered  drearily.  "I  have  told  you  that;  I 
have  told  you  what  it  was.  Do  not  let  us  go 
back.  I  am  fighting  for  my  life." 

"We  are  both  fighting  for  our  lives,"  she  said, 
' '  but  our  true  lives  are  lost  already.  Tell  me, "  she 
said  in  a  lower  tone,  "at  the  very  beginning — 
long  ago — did  you  get  some  letters  from  me?  " 

"They  are  here,"  he  said;  "they  have  never 
left  me  all  these  years." 

Without  looking  round,  she  held  out  a  hand 
towards  him.  He  drew  a  ragged  packet  of 
letters  from  an  inner  pocket,  and  gave  them  to 
her.  She  turned  over  the  first  few,  till  she  came 
to  one  at  which  she  stopped.  Slowly  she  took  it 
from  the  envelope  and  held  it  open  before  her. 
Then  with  one  clutch  of  the  hands  she  crumpled 
it  up  and  flung  it  into  the  heart  of  the  fire.  The 
others  she  threw  on  the  top  of  it  unread,  and  held 
them  tightly  down  among  the  flames.  Her  face 
was  red  as  the  heart  of  the  fire  itself. 

"Oh,  shame,  shame!"  she  cried,  while  her 
back  and  shoulders  shuddered.  "That  you 
should  read  a  letter  like  that,  and  all  the  time, 
day  and  night,  you  were  living  side  by  side  with 
another  woman." 


318  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"  Do  you  think  I  ever  showed  her  a  letter  of 
yours  ?  "  he  cried  angrily. 

"Oh,  no,  no  !  "  she  said.  "  That  wouldn't  have 
been  any  worse.  But  you  read  my  letters  in  the 
evening,  when  she  had  gone  upstairs  and  you 
were  alone.  And  then,  after  you  had  read  the 
things  I  said  to  you — those  things  I  said  because 
I  loved  you — you  followed  her,  you  found  her 
there,  you  kissed  her,  and  were  kind  to  her,  as 
you  say.  Oh,  it  is  all  inconceivable  ! — it  is  all 
too  full  of  shame  !  " 

He  had  stood  up  as  she  spoke,  and  was  leaning 
his  arms  against  the  mantelpiece,  with  his  face 
sunk  in  them. 

"Forgive  me,  dear,"  she  said,  touching  his 
coat  sleeve.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  make  it  hard  for 
you.  I  am  sorry  I  said  that,  but  I  saw  it  all  so 
plain.  It  was  like  a  fire.  Now  I  will  be  quiet 
again.  Oh,  I  am  so  sorry,  dearest." 

He  turned  towards  her,  and  their  eyes  met  in 
the  firelight.  Taking  both  her  arms,  he  drew  her 
close  to  his  side.  She  resisted  no  more,  but  put 
her  hands  round  his  head,  and  with  closed  eyes 
drew  his  face  down  to  hers.  It  seemed  as 
though  that  long  embrace  could  never  end. 
Neither  of  them  dared  to  let  it  end,  lest  there 


A    LITTLE    HONEY  319 

should  be  no  renewal  of  it  ever  again.  It  was 
the  only  poor  relic  of  compensation  for  the  years 
— the  one  little  jewel  snatched  from  the  ruins  of 
a  treasure-house  that  might  have  been  their 
own — and  they  could  not  let  it  go. 

At  last,  to  draw  breath,  she  turned  her  head 
away,  and  laid  her  face  upon  his  shoulder. 

"Look,"  she  whispered;  "I  must  send  you 
away.  I  cannot  endure  it.  You  see  how  im- 
possible it  is.  I  dare  not  be  with  you.  I  thought 
at  first  it  might  be  possible,  but  it  is  not.  What 
kind  of  life  could  we  two  ever  have  together 
now?  " 

"  Then  you  do  not  love  me  any  more?"  he  said. 

"  Oh,"  she  answered,  "  I  am  so  frightened — so 
frightened  of  ceasing  to  love  you  !  " 

"  You  used  not  to  be  afraid  of  that,"  he  said 
bitterly.  "What  is  the  change  these  years  have 
made  in  me?  " 

"In  you?"  she  said.  "Oh,  I  was  not  think- 
ing of  any  change  in  you.  It  is  I  who  am 
changed.  I  have  lost  something  ;  I  hardly  know 
what  it  is — some  kind  of  golden  spirit — and  it 
will  never  come  back.  Don't  ask  me  any  more. 
I  see  everything  clearly  now  ;  I  see  how  im- 
possible it  would  be.  Cannot  you  see  that  ?  " 


320  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"I  adore  you,"  he  said;  "I  would  do  my 
utmost.  I  think  I  could  make  you  happy  still." 

"  Ah,  there  was  no  question  of  *  still '  in  the  old 
days,"  she  said,  drawing  herself  gently  from  his 
arms.  "What  is  the  good  of  a  second  best? 
Happiness  doesn't  count.  Give  me  back  what  I 
was,  and  I  will  come  with  you." 

"It  might  come  right  in  time,"  he  said,  turn 
ing  away  drearily. 

"Yes,  it  might  come  what  you  call  right,"  she 
cried  passionately.  "We  might  sink  into  a 
comfortable  acquiescence.  You  and  I — we  who 
have  been  what  we  were  to  each  other — we  might 
begin  making  allowances  and  thinking  we  were 
fairly  happy  after  all,  as  married  people  go.  We 
might  degrade  ourselves  into  complacency  and 
satisfaction.  There  would  always  be  one  thing 
we  could  not  talk  about  for  fear  of  hurting  each 
other's  feelings  and  disturbing  our  miserable  con- 
tentment. But  we  should  rot  into  peace,  and  day 
and  night  we  should  loathe  our  very  souls.  Oh, 
I  implore  you  to  go.  We  have  still  time  to  save 
ourselves  from  that  and  end  it  all !  " 

"To  end  it  all,"  he  repeated  vacantly,  looking 
round  the  little  room. 

"You    must    go,    dearest,"    she    whispered; 


A    LITTLE    HONEY  321 

"you  must  go,  so  that  you  may  never  cease  to 
be  dear." 

Still  he  did  not  move. 

" Good-bye,"  she  said,  going  to  him  and 
gently  kissing  his  shoulder.  "Good-bye.  I  ask 
you  to  go  now.  You  cannot  refuse  a  woman's 
last  request,  as  some  poor  queen  said  to  her  exe- 
cutioner." 

Without  looking  at  her,  he  took  up  his  hat, 
and  she  went  with  him  to  the  door. 

"You  must  never  come  again,"  she  said,  as 
they  passed  out  into  the  night.  "You  must  not 
write  to  me  till  you  are  dying.  As  long  as  we 
are  not  together,  the  worst  cannot  happen.  We 
cannot  cease  to  love  each  other  as  we  were 
once." 

As  they  went  down  the  path  there  was  a  scuffle 
of  feet  under  the  deep  shadow  of  the  lilac  beside 
the  gate,  and  Biddy  emerged  into  the  light  of 
the  setting  moon. 

"  Please,  miss,  I've  been  gathering  a  little 
mint  for  the  lamb,"  she  said  as  she  hurried 
past  them,  panting  with  innocent  excitement. 
"  Dinner's  just  upon  ready." 

"I'm  sorry  to  find  my  friend  cannot  stay,  so 
don't  mind  about  it,"  said  Cecily. 
Y 


322  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

t 'Good-bye,"  she  said,  giving  him  her  hand 
when  they  came  to  the  road. 

" Good-bye,"  he  answered,  and  was  gone. 

She  stayed  beside  the  gate  till  the  pale  moon 
sank  behind  the  mountains  and  the  last  sign  of 
her  brightness  disappeared  from  the  windy 
clouds.  The  postman,  hidden  in  the  lilac  shade, 
felt  very  awkward  and  ridiculous,  all  the  more 
because  now  and  then  she  uttered  a  low  cry. 

"  For  a  man  like  me,"  he  said  afterwards,  "it 
was  an  extremely  painful  situation." 


THE   COMPANION   SHIP 

AND  is  it  true  that  I  must  leave 
The  morning  and  the  midday  light, 

And  the  lit  stars  that  hang  at  eve 

From  the  blue  dome  of  coming  night  ? 

That  I  must  leave  the  various  face 
Of  the  big  sea  in  sun  and  rain, 

And  let  another  take  my  place 

When  the  old  ship  puts  out  again  ? 

'Tis  cruel,  and  more  cruel  far 
To  leave  the  soul  who  is  to  me 

Both  sun  and  rain  and  night  and  star 
And  infinitely  various  sea. 

And  what  if  she  should  go  before — 
Go  in  the  dark,  and  I  be  left 

Haunting  alone  a  haunted  shore, 
Unsteered,  a  derelict  bereft? 

Some  say  there  is  a  spirit  thing 
Which  after  death  may  still  abide, 

And  that  the  very  self  takes  wing 
Or  sails  on  an  eternal  tide. 

323 


324  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

For  the  bare  chance  of  that,  I'll  choose 
To  board  death's  boat,  crowd  sail,  and  fly, 

Chasing  her  hard  astern,  nor  lose 
One  bell  of  her  eternity. 


XIII 
THE    LAST    RAG 

SHE  was  sitting  on  a  muddy  step  at  the 
entrance  to  a  court  in  Gray's  Inn  Road.  A 
cold  and  misty  rain  was  falling  through  the  fog. 
Across  the  road  a  policeman  in  his  waterproof 
cape  was  making  himself  as  thin  as  he  could 
under  the  meagre  shelter  of  a  shop  door.  A 
tramcar  growled  past,  carrying  to  their  sleepy 
wives  a  few  journalists  who  had  run  up  from 
Fleet  Street  to  catch  it,  with  the  courage  of  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  A  few  homeless  men 
loitered  up  and  dowrn,  waiting  for  daylight  and 
some  unimaginable  change.  A  few  dismal  women 
splashed  along  the  pavement,  anxious  to  make 
what  bargain  they  could  for  a  cup  of  warmth 
at  a  night  coffee-stall  or  half  an  hour's  sleep  in 
the  dry  corner  of  a  tram. 

The  woman  sat  on,   and   let  the  rain   trickle 
down  her  ragged  brown  skirt  on   to  her  large 
325 


326  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

boots,  from  which  lumps  of  stocking  stuck  out, 
all  sodden  with  dirt  and  water.  An  old  grey 
shawl  was  knotted  tightly  round  her  chest,  and 
stuck  by  two  hairpins  to  her  head  was  a  black 
straw  relic  that  had  once  been  a  bonnet,  but  was 
now  transfigured  to  a  hat  by  the  loss  of  strings. 
From  under  its  cover  long  wisps  of  faded  brown 
hair  kept  falling  over  her  faded  blue  eyes  and 
deeply  lined  cheeks.  Now  and  then  she  twisted 
them  back  impatiently,  but  they  always  fell 
again,  and  all  the  time  she  never  ceased  a  low 
lamentation,  which  she  poured  out  in  a  wailing 
voice  of  despair,  but  without  tears. 

"I've  never  done  such  a  thing  in  all  my  life 
before,"  she  said.  "Never,  never,  never  have  I 
done  such  a  thing.  No,  I  never  have.  I  was 
all  right  up  till  then.  There  was  nobody  couldn't 
say  I  wasn't  a  respectable  woman  up  till  then. 
Never  in  all  my  life  before  have  I  done  such 
a  thing.  No,  I  never  have,  never  up  till  this 
blessed  afternoon.  I  never  thought  I  should 
come  to  do  them  kind  of  things.  It  didn't  seem 
likely,  me  being  what  I  am  and  always  have 
been,  thank  Gord.  And  now  I've  been  and  done 
it,  and  never  before  in  all  my  life  have  I  done 
such  a  thing,  never,  never." 


THE    LAST    RAG  327 

So  she  went  on  with  unending  repetition,  and 
all  the  time  the  rain  trickled  down  her  ragged 
skirts  and  soaked  into  the  bulging  holes  of  her 
boots. 

One  of  the  homeless  men,  who  had  been 
drearily  tramping  up  and  down  for  warmth, 
stopped,  as  he  passed  her  for  the  third  or  fourth 
time,  and  looked  up  the  covered  entrance  to  the 
court. 

"Why  don't  you  go  inside,  Sooky?"  he  said. 
"You'll  get  your  pretty  little  feet  damp  out 
here." 

' '  Go  and  blast  yourself.  My  feet  don't  matter, " 
she  answered. 

"  Maybe  not,"  he  said  ;  "but  there's  a  reg'lar 
river  runnin'  down  the  middle  of  the  passage, 
and  it's  backin'  up  against  you  through  you 
sittin'  on  its  way  out." 

"It  don't  matter  how  I  sits,"  she  answered, 
and  went  on  with  her  lamentation.  "Never, 
never  before  have  I  done  such  a  thing,  no,  never 
in  all  my  life." 

"Well,  if  yer  'ave  a  partiality  for  livin'  on  the 
tideway,  it  ain't  no  affair  of  mine,"  said  the  man  ; 
"only,  by  yer  leave,  I'll  step  over  you  and  get 
into  the  dry  myself.' 


328  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

He  strode  over  her  shoulder,  and  sat  down  on 
a  dry  part  of  the  pavement  with  his  feet  up 
against  the  opposite  wall. 

"Never  up  to  this  day  have  I  done  such  a 
thing,"  she  went  on  to  herself. 

"This  ain't  so  bad,"  he  said  ;  "I  always  did 
like  'aving  a  roof  over  my  'ead.  Just  you  come 
up  'ere,  Sooky,  and  set  alongside  of  me.  It's 
fine  and  dry,  and  by  gettin'  close  up  we'll  keep 
each  other  warm  on  the  one  side,  and  then 
change  about,  till  we  goes  to  sleep  to  the  sound 
of  the  murmurin'  stream  as  runs  under  our  legs." 

"  Blast  the  murmurin'  stream  !  "  she  answered, 
but  nevertheless  she  lifted  herself  up  with  some 
difficulty,  and  came  along  the  passage  towards 
him.  As  she  rose  the  gutter  discharged  itself 
with  a  little  flood  into  the  street,  as  at  the  burst- 
ing of  a  miniature  dam,  and  when  she  sat  down 
again  it  was  with  the  squelch  of  a  wet  mop  stood 
to  rest. 

"  Now  there  ain't  only  one  thing  I  asks  of 
you,"  she  said,  as  she  drew  up  close  to  his  side  : 
"none  of  yer  love-makin'  for  me  to-night.  'Cos 
why,  I  haven't  got  the  'eart,  and  there  ain't 
nothink  turns  a  woman's  stomick  quicker  than 
love-makin'  when  she  hasn't  got  the  'eart." 


THE    LAST    RAG  329 

"  You're  right,"  said  the  man;  "  I've  found 
that  out  with  females — decent  females,  anyways." 

"  There's  no  call  for  you  to  be  talkin'  about 
decent  females,"  she  answered. 

"Keep  yer  'air  on,  my  dear,"  he  said.  "I 
was  only  meanin'  a  compliming  by  includin'  of 
you  among  that  class." 

"Burn  your  complimings!"  she  cried.  "What's 
the  good  of  calling  me  a  decent  female  now? 
You  might  have  said  it  this  time  yesterday,  and 
no  harm  done.  Yus,  I  was  decent  enough  up 
till  about  'alf-past  four  or  five.  You're  right. 
I  was  as  decent  as  any  woman  could  wish.  I 
hadn't  done  it  then.  Not  at  half-past  four  I 
hadn't  done  it,  and  I  never  should  have  thought 
I'd  come  to  do  such  a  thing — never,  never  should 
I  have  thought  it." 

Rocking  herself  gently  backwards  and  for- 
wards, with  her  eyes  fixed  in  vacancy  upon  the 
opposite  wall,  she  began  again  to  pour  out  her 
monotonous  lamentation. 

"  Oh,  cheese  it,  Sooky  !  "  said  the  man  at  last. 
"I  shan't  never  get  no  sleep  if  you  keep  on 
rampin'  and  caterwaulin'  like  that.  Why  can't 
you  keep  quiet,  and  then  we'll  get  warm  and 
comfortable  alongside  of  each  other  ?  " 


330  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"Oh,  I  can't,  I  can't!  I  never  thought  I 
should  have  done  it,"  said  the  woman,  beginning 
to  cry,  and  smearing  the  tears  over  her  cheeks 
with  the  end  of  her  wet  shawl.  "I  ain't  'appy, 
and  I  never  was  one  to  be  comfortable  if  I  wasn't 
'appy.  Same  as  when  old  Ben  bashed  my  'ead 
in,  and  I  laid  in  the  'orspital,  nice  and  clean  as 
could  be.  But  comfortable?  No,  not  me  !  " 

1  '  Well,  who's  been  bashin'  at  yer  now,  then?" 
asked  the  man. 

"It  ain't  that,"  she  answered.  "I  done  it 
myself  this  time,  and  that's  what  there's  no  gettin' 
over." 

"Oh,  blast  you,  spit  it  out  and  have  done 
with  it,"  said  the  man  impatiently.  "You  look  as 
if  you'd  done  most  things  in  your  time,  same  as 
the  rest  of  us." 

"So  I  'ave,  most  things,  but  I  never  done  such 
a  thing  as  this  before,  never,  never." 

"Don't  yer  keep  on  squawkin'  like  that,"  he 
said,  as  she  began  to  cry  again.  "What's  the 
matter  with  yer?  Have  you  bilked  a  man  as 
stood  you  a  drink,  or  what?" 

"Oh,  that's  nothink,  nothink  at  all,"  she  an- 
swered, smearing  her  eyes  again  and  sniffing 
violently.  "Them  sort  o'  things  is  only  part  of 


THE    LAST    RAG  831 

makin'  an  honest  livin',  and  an  honest  livin'  I 
always  'ave  made,  thank  Gord,  up  to  now — up  to 
now. " 

Seeing  she  was  on  the  point  of  breaking  down 
again,  the  man  said  quickly,  "Well  then,  if  it 
aint  bilkin'  a  gentleman,  p'raps  you've  'ad  a 
discrepancy  with  the  police  about  your  takin' 
things?" 

But  his  question  only  made  worse  of  it.  "  No," 
she  said,  with  a  voice  rising  to  a  wail,  "there 
wasn't  no  discrepancy.  It  was  the  thing  as  I 
took  ;  that's  where  the  trouble  lays." 

"Oh,  well,"  he  said  soothingly,  "if  it  was 
nothink  but  takin'  somethink  as  you  wanted,  I 
don't  see  as  that  matters  much,  so  long  as  you 
didn't  'ave  no  discrepancy.  You  'aven't  got  any 
of  it  left  about  you,  'ave  yer,  Sooky?  "  he  added 
coaxingly. 

"  Only  inside  of  me,"  she  said  with  a  gulp,  as 
though  to  hold  something  down. 

"Swallowed  it?"  he  asked  in  astonishment. 
"Jools,  was  it?  " 

"  No,  it  wasn't  jools,"  she  sobbed  ;  "it  were  a 
'alfpenny  bun." 

"Ger  along  with  yer  'alfpenny  bun,"  he  said, 
settling  down  against  the  wall  and  closing  his  eyes. 


332  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"Yus,"  she  said,  pouring  out  her  story  now 
without  in  the  least  considering  whether  her 
companion  was  listening  or  not,  "it  was  this 
very  afternoon,  about  the  time  as  they  was 
lightin'  up  the  lamps.  Up  to  the  lightin'  of  the 
lamps  you  might  have  called  me  a  decent  woman, 
and  nobody  couldn't  have  said  nothink  against 
yer.  Up  to  this  very  afternoon  I'd  always  made 
my  livin'  honest  since  the  day  as  I  first  went  on 
the  streets,  all  along  of  old  Ben  and  his  always 
wantin'  money  for  the  drink.  But  they  was 
lightin'  up  the  lamps,  and  I  finds  myself  standin' 
promiscuous  on  the  gratin'  of  the  Palace  Music- 
'all,  and  feelin'  the  warm  from  the  furnace  below 
creep  up  my  legs  fine  and  dryin'  my  boots  same 
time." 

"You're  right,"  said  the  man,  sleepily  inter- 
rupting her:  "them  gratin's  is  a  public  benefac- 
tion. Talk  of  free  libr'ies  !  Why,  free  libr'ies 
isn't  fit  to  die  in  the  same  street  with  the  Palace 
Music- 'all — not  as  public  institootions,  if  I  may 
say." 

"As  I  was  sayin',"  the  woman  went  on, 
"they  was  just  lightin'  up  the  lamps,  and  I 
was  standin'  there  enjoyin'  the  warm  as  kep' 
creepin'  up  my  legs,  and  only  wishin'  for  some- 


THE    LAST    RAG  333 

think  to  fill  my  belly  with,  same  as  we  all  wishes. 
So  I  kep'  my  eyes  lookin'  at  Lockhart's  cocoa 
shop  at  the  next  corner,  and  watchin'  the  steamin' 
urns,  and  the  cakes  and  sandwiches  and  that  in 
the  winder.  And  me  watchin'  and  feelin'  emptier 
each  minute,  out  of  that  door  there  comes  a  kind 
of  a  thing  as  yer  might  call  a  child,  if  so  be  a 
little  gal  wasn't  more  fittin',  and  she  comes 
waddlin'  along,  holdin'  out  a  'alfpenny  bun  in  'er 
'and.  How  she'd  got  'old  on  the  'alfpenny  as 
bought  that  bun,  Gord  in  'eaven  only  knows. 
She  was  almost  too  small  to  have  pinched  it  any- 
wheres, and  it  weren't  a  bit  of  stale  as  Lockhart's 
man  had  give  her  at  'alf-price,  'cos  I  knows  it 
wasn't.  But  as  she  comes  along  I  see  she  had 
got  nothink  on,  only  a  second-'and  frock  and  a 
bit  of  tape  tied  round  where  her  waist  had  ought 
to  be.  And  underneath  that  frock  I  knowed 
there  wasn't  no  rag  of  underclothin',  not  to  speak 
on.  A  shimmy  and  drawers,  there  maybe  was, 
but  nothink  else,  no  more  nor  what  I  got  myself. 
And  her  hair  was  all  ends  and  anyhow,  and  on 
her  feet  was  her  mother's  old  boots.  So  as  she 
comes  waddlin'  past,  I  says  imprompter, — '  Give 
us  a  bite,  my  dear,'  says  I. 

"And  she  cops  the  bun  to  her  bosom,   and 


334  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

says,  '  Who  do  you  think  you're  gettin'  at ! '  says 
she,  bold  as  brass. 

"  'Only  a  little  bit,  sweet'eart,'  says  I. 

"  And  she  looks  again  at  me,  and  then  at  the 
bun,  and  says,  'All  right,  muvver,'  says  she, 
1  'ere  yer  are,'  and  she  'olds  out  the  bun  in  her 
little  'and,  and  I  gives  one  great  bite  and  wolfs 
it  into  my  mouth  and  runs  round  the  corner  with 
it,  same  as  a  dog  with  a  rabbit  he  has  sneaked 
from  a  coster-stall." 

"  Well,  you  are  a  oner,"  said  the  man  sleepily. 
"A  oner,  that's  what  you  are  !  " 

"Yer  may  say  that/'  she  answered,  beginning 
to  whimper  again;  "yus,  yer  may  say  that.  I 
jest  had  time  to  see  the  look  of  its  hinnercent 
eyes  go  changed,  and  to  'ear  it  start  cryin' 
and  howlin'  afore  I'd  whipt  around  the  corner, 
and'll  never  see  that  child  no  more.  Nothink 
much  to  look  at  she  weren't,  there's  no  denyin' 
it,  and  her  dress  fit  for  nothink  only  a  effigy. 
But  I  can't  abear  to  think  on  'er,  I  can't  abear  it, 
so  there." 

"  Good  bun  ?  "  asked  the  man. 

"Went  down  lovely,"  she  answered;  "and  me 
fair  griped  with  the  gnawin'  of  my  inside.  But 
never  again  shall  I  take  bite  or  sup  to  put  into  my 


THE    LAST    RAG  335 

mouth  without  thinkin'  on  that  child — never 
again — no,  I  never  shall." 

"Oh,  for  Cord's  sake,  stow  all  that  snortin," 
said  the  man.  "I  don't  see  as  you  got  much  to 
complain  on.  Got  a  nice  bun  for  nothink,  and 
no  blood'ounds  or  such  things  turned  on  to  yer. 
I  can't  say  as  it's  exactly  the  sort  of  thing  as  I 
likes  doing  myself;  I  always  was  a  kind  of  a 
pertickler  sort  of  bloke.  I've  always  been  what's 
called  one  of  nature's  gen'lemen.  But  I'm  not 
blamin'  them  as  ain't — not  me.  Where's  the  use 
of  blamin'  anybody — let  alone  a  female  ?  You 
might  as  well  take  to  being  a  copper  at  once." 

"I  never  done  such  a  thing  before,  never," 
the  woman  began  again.  "  I  always  earned  a 
honest  livin'  up  to  now,  and  nobody  can't  say  I 
'aven't." 

"  Nobody  ain't  blamin'  of  yer,"  said  the  man. 
"I'm  only  sayin'  as  it  so  'appened  I  was  brought 
up  pertickler,  and  'ave  so  kep'  on.  Them  as 
wasn't  needn't." 

"  *  'Ere  yer  are,  muvver,'  that's  what  she  said, 
and  now  she'll  never  give  a  bite  to  nobody  no 
more." 

"  Yus,  it's  what's  called  a  objick  lesson,"  said 
the  man,  "and  a  very  owdacious  objick  at  that." 


336  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"  PVaps  she'll  never  get  another  'alfpenny 
give  her  for  a  bun,  never  as  long  as  she 
lives." 

"  There  ain't  no  sayin', "  he  said,  "p'r'aps 
she'll  take  one." 

"I  wish  to  Gord  I  'adn't  got  that  bun  inside 
of  me,"  she  went  on. 

u  You've  got  to  get  over  it,"  he  answered. 

"There  ain't  no  blasted  good  in  gettin'  over 
it,"  she  said.  "I  never  thought  I'd  come  to  do 
such  a  thing  as  that,  I  never  did.  It's  demeanin', 
that's  what  it  is." 

Her  voice  died  away  again  into  a  low 
murmur,  and  both  were  silent.  The  man's 
head  fell  on  to  her  shoulder,  and  she  put  an 
arm  round  his  neck  to  keep  it  there.  But  after 
a  time  he  woke  up  again,  and  began  fretfully  to 
shift  his  position  against  the  wall. 

"  Lord  love  yer, "  she  muttered,  "  why  the  hell 
can't  yer  keep  still  ?  " 

"'Ungry,"  he  answered;  "I'm  fair  dyin'  of 
'unger.  For  Cord's  sake,  get  us  somethink  to 
eat  at  the  corffee  -  stall.  'Aven't  yer  got  a 
bloomin'  'alfpenny  on  yer?" 

44  Not  me,"  she  said. 

He  leant  forward  and  peered  down  the  passage 


THE    LAST    RAG  337 

into  the  street,  where  a  few  men  were  waiting 
about  for  the  next  tram. 

"Look  at  that  torff  with  a  top  'at  on,"  he 
said;  "couldn't  you  go  and  'tice  him  down  at 
the  back  here,  and  if  he  didn't  fork  out  a  bob, 
we'd  give  him  a  doin'  as  'ud  make  him." 

"  Don't  ask  it  of  me — not  to-night,"  she  said. 
"It  ain't  as  I  objeck,  mind  that!  There  ain't 
nothink  I  wouldn't  do  by  way  of  an  honest  livin', 
but  don't  ask  it  of  me  to-night.  I  'aven't  got  the 
'eart." 

"  I  ain't  blamin'  you,"  said  the  man,  and  fold- 
ing his  arms  tight  against  his  body,  he  sank  back 
again  upon  the  wall. 

"  He  do  look  rather  temptin',  'im  with  a  tall 
'at  on,"  said  the  woman  in  a  minute  or  two. 
"  Let's  try  if  askin'  won't  do  it.  There  is  tall 
'ats  as  likes  being  begged  of.  It  kind  of  shows 
a  decent  valuation  as  you  puts  on  'em." 

She  trailed  her  steps  down  the  passage  into 
the  street,  and  went  softly  up  to  the  man,  who 
was  standing  alone. 

"  No,  thank  you,  my  dear,"  he  said  before  she 
began  to  speak  ;  "I'm  sorry,  but  it's  no  good." 

"Oh,  kind  gen'leman,"  she  said,  "for  the 
love  of  Gord  give  me  the  price  of  a  cup  of 
z 


338  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

corffee.  I'm  a  respectable  woman  born  and 
bred,  and  it  ain't  for  myself  I'm  askin'  it  of  yer, 
but  I  got  three  little  children  at  'ome,  one  of  'em 
only  three  months  and  one  week  ;  and  if  you 
'card  them  cryin'  for  food,  it  'ud  make  yer  feel 
bad.  For  you  got  a  kind  'eart,  nobody  can't 
'elp  seein'  that.  And  my  'usband  'e's  layin' 
sick  in  the  same  bed  with  'em  through  fallin' 
down  a  ladder,  he  being  a  bricklayer  by  his 
trade,  and  nothink  comin'  in  for  seven  weeks 
past  this  very  day.  It's  Gord's  truth  I'm  tellin' 
yer,  kind  gen'leman,  strike  me  dead  if  it  ain't." 

He  eyed  her  figure  inquisitively  for  a  moment, 
and  then  lit  a  fresh  cigarette  and  turned  away. 

"Oh,  kind  gen'leman,"  she  wailed,  " think  of 
my  pore  'usband  layin'  on  his  bed  with  nothink 
but  his  own  trousies  to  cover  'im  and  his  back 
nearly  broke,  and  the  dear  little  baby  as  I'm 
still  nursin',  and  me  pretty  well  gone  dry  with 
'unger.  Just  one  penny,  kind  gen'leman.  What's 
a  penny  to  a  real  gen'leman  like  you  ?  " 

He  felt  in  his  pocket  and  threw  her  a  coin, 
which  fell  in  the  mud. 

"Gord  bless  yer  kind  'eart !  "  she  said,  as  she 
grubbed  about  for  it.  "I  knew  you'd  believe  a 
pore  woman  as  told  yer  nothink  but  Gord's  truth." 


THE    LAST    RAG  339 

"  Here  you  are,  my  dear,"  she  cried  almost 
without  a  pause  as  she  turned  up  the  passage 
again.  "  That  bloomin'  top-'at  sucked  it  in  fine. 
Them  top-'ats  doesn't  get  much  sense  inside  of 
'em,  I  must  say.  Now,  what  do  yer  think  of 
that?" 

"A  tanner !  "  said  the  man,  getting  up  to  look 
at  it  more  closely. 

"  Yus,  a  tanner  !  "  she  answered  triumphantly. 
"  Chucked  it  at  me  he  did,  same  as  a  match  end, 
or  a  bit  of  fat  to  a  dog.  It  was  the  dear  little 
baby  at  'ome  as  done  it,  bless  his  little  'eart ! 
Baby,  indeed !  Me  and  a  baby !  Oh,  ketch 
'old  on  me,  my  dear,  ketch  'old  on  me,  or  I  shall 
die  of  laughin'." 

"What'll  yer  stand?"  said  the  man,  taking 
her  arm  and  drawing  her  into  the  street. 

"  Stand  ?  "  she  answered,  still  laughing  ;  "why 
I'll  stand  anythink  yer  like.  Champagne  and 
oysters?  Or  what  do  yer  say  to  a  real  hegg 
between  us  ?  One  real  hegg  and  a  cup  of  corffee 
each,  and  a  'unk  of  best  bread  ;  that's  fivepence, 
and  a  penny  for  luck." 

"Yus,"  he  said,  "a  penny  carried  forward, 
as  we  say  in  the  City." 

"Well,     there    ain't    nothink    like   makin'    a 


340  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

honest  livin',  after  all,"  she  reflected  as  they 
walked  down  the  street  arm  in  arm.  "Why, 
I  feels  quite  matrimonial,  I  do  declare.  I  say, 
guv'nor,  look  smart  now,"  she  went  on  to  the 
keeper  of  the  coffee-stall,  "I'm  standin'  my 
'usband  a  treat.  Now,  my  dear,  supper's  quite 
ready.  What'll  yer  'ave?  You've  only  got  to 
give  it  a  name." 

The  stall-keeper  silently  gave  them  two  cups 
of  coffee  and  a  plank  of  bread  and  a  bit  of  cake. 

"I'll  carve  if  you  like,  my  dear,"  said  the 
woman,  as  with  an  elaborate  flourish  of  the 
knife  she  cut  the  bread  and  cake  in  half  between 
them,  and  whilst  the  egg  was  boiling  they  began 
to  eat  with  careful  and  leisurely  satisfaction. 

But  it  happened  that  along  his  little  counter 
the  stall-keeper  had  arranged  tempting  plates  of 
bread  and  butter  and  ham  sandwiches  in  a  row, 
and  the  woman's  ringers  began  unconsciously 
ranging  from  one  to  another,  rather  with  a 
caressing  affection  than  from  any  other  desire. 

"Confine  yourself  to  your  own  particular  por- 
tion, madam,  if  you  please,"  said  the  grim  stall- 
keeper  sharply. 

Instantly  she  dropped  her  hand,  and  her  whole 
figure  seemed  to  shrink  together.  Drawing  her 


THE    LAST    RAG  341 

shawl  tightly  around  her  again,  she  turned  and 
walked  slowly  away. 

"  Here,  Sooky ! "  cried  the  man  after  her, 
"you've  not  drunk  your  corffee  more  nor  'alf, 
and  there's  the  egg  to  foller  !  " 

"  Blast  the  hegg  !  "  she  said,  going  reluctantly 
further  from  the  stall  ;  "that  bloomin'  barstud's 
right ;  I'd  oughter  confine  myself  to  my  own 
pertickler  portion,  same  as  Gord  Almighty  give 
me.  Not  as  I  cares  the  spit  of  a  flea  what  any 
barstud  says,  right  or  wrong,  but  it  calls  to  mind 
the  thing  as  I  did,  and  I  never  did  such  a  thing 
in  all  my  life  before — never,  never  did  I  do  such  a 
thing." 

The  sound  of  her  wailing  voice  died  away  as 
she  vanished  in  the  obscurity. 

"Egg's  done,"  said  the  stall-keeper,  giving 
it  to  the  man  without  further  remark. 

"I'll  tell  yer  where  it  is,"  said  the  man  confi- 
dentially, as  he  began  eating  the  egg,  and  dab- 
bing it  on  the  salt  between  the  bites;  "I'll  tell 
yer  where  it  is  :  females  ain't  got  no  sense  ; 
that's  where  it  is.  And  now  with  that  extry 
penny  I'll  take  a  smoke,  if  you  please." 


MISERICORDE 

HE  came  in  tempest  to  a  convent  old, 

High  up  the  mountains  on  the  Italian  way, 

Seeking  a  shelter  from  the  sullen  cold, 

Where  he  might  wait  the  dear  return  of  day  : 

Gold  was  his  armour,  and  his  hair  was  gold. 

And  as  he  slumbered  in  a  chamber  dim, 
Came  Misery  and  she  crept  into  the  bed, 

And  laid  one  hand  upon  the  heart  of  him, 
And  wound  one  wasted  arm  about  his  head : 

With  tears  her  eyes  were  heavy  to  the  brim. 

"  My  hair,"  she  said,  "  is  wet  with  snow  and  rain, 
My  garment  lets  the  biting  weather  in, 

My  girdle  is  a  loop  of  rusty  chain, 

The  frost  and  storm  have  crinkled  all  my  skin, 

And  when  I  smile,  half  of  the  smile  is  pain. 

"  I  stand  removed  from  other  women's  grace, 
My  feet  are  cut  with  brambles  and  with  stones, 

My  body  shrinks  into  a  little  space, 

And  through  my  very  breasts  I  feel  the  bones  ; 

Sorrow  has  graved  her  trade-mark  on  my  face. 
342 


MISERICORDE  343 

"  But  let  me  sleep  beside  this  heart  of  thine  : 
I  eat  the  crusts  that  dogs  have  sorted  through, 

I  drink  the  dregs  of  vinegar  for  wine, 
But  let  me  sleep  as  other  women  do  ; 

No  other  woman  has  a  heart  like  mine." 


" Then  sleep,"  he  said,  "if  sleep  be  thy  desire ; 

But  for  thy  loving  heart,  speak  not  of  it ; 
I  love  Delight,  whom  love  can  never  tire, 

And  Jollity,  who  savours  love  with  wit, 
And  amorous  Passion  with  the  lips  of  fire. 

"  And  I  love  Plenty's  well-contented  form, 
And  the  shy  limbs  of  fugitive  Daintiness  ; 

I  love  the  fragrant  hair,  the  fingers  warm, 
What  pleasure  is  there  in  pale-eyed  distress, 

Sad  at  the  mouth  and  frozen  with  the  storm  ? 

"  But  sleep,  if  sleep  be  thy  desire,"  he  said, 
"  So  that  thou  speak  of  love  no  more  again." 

Thereat  she  rose  from  out  the  narrow  bed, 

And  round  her  loins  she  hooked  the  girdle  chain, 

And  passed  into  the  night,  nor  turned  her  head. 

When  yellow  sunshine  touched  the  convent  old, 
Forthwith  he  fared  upon  his  onward  way, 

And  climbed  the  pass  across  the  mountain  cold, 
Till  all  the  sunny  plain  beneath  him  lay  ; 

Gold  was  his  armour,  and  his  hair  was  gold. 


344  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

And  there  within  a  golden  city's  gate 

He  passed  with  gladness,  and  a  palace  found 

High-towered  and  bastioned  as  the  crown  of  state, 
Encircling  in  its  walls  a  garden  round, 

With  many  a  grove  to  pleasure  dedicate. 

Where  Plenty  day  by  day  her  court  did  keep, 
And  Jollity  and  Delight  made  laughing  love, 

And  Daintiness  allowed  her  feet  to  peep 
Under  her  broidered  gown  as  she  did  move, 

And  Passion  let  him  kiss  her  eyes  to  sleep. 

But  ever  came  some  vision  of  the  night 
When  one  besought  him  with  petition  sad, 

And  laid  beside  his  face  a  face  so  white  ; 
And  dreaming  on  the  heart  none  other  had, 

He  found  no  solace  in  a  world's  delight. 


XIV 
THE   PINNACLE   OF  FAME 

BAREST,  dearest!"  cried  Christabel, 
hurrying  into  the  dressing-room  with  the 
sheets  of  the  Times  spread  out  wide  in  front  of 
her,  so  that  only  the  excited  little  face  and  part 
of  the  light  holland  skirt  could  be  seen.  "Oh, 
dearest,  it  has  come  at  last !  Didn't  I  tell  you  it 
was  a  grand  success  ?  Look  !  A  full  leader  in 
the  Times  all  about  you  and  the  lecture." 

"There's  glory  !  "  said  her  husband,  while  his 
razor  went  steadily  on,  scraping  the  sunburnt 
skin. 

"Glory?"  she  cried,  "I  should  think  so. 
Even  the  fools  will  honour  you  now.  It's 
superb." 

"Shall  I  tell  you  why?"  he  said.  "It's  because 
yesterday  was  Derby-day.  The  situation  of  the 
Empire  is  critical,  and  our  rulers  decided  the 
whole  concern  would  topple  over  if  they  stayed 

345 


346  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

away  from  the  race.  So  editors  had  to  search 
out  subjects  for  their  leader-writers.  Splendid 
luck  !  " 

"Oh,  who  cares  about  the  Derby?"  she  said 
absently,  for  she  was  skimming  through  the 
leader  and  carefully  picking  out  the  words  of 
praise.  "No  one  said  a  word  about  it  at  the 
Society." 

"No,"  he  answered.  "Anthropologists  don't 
think  much  of  the  Derby.  It  isn't  even  a  survival 
of  marriage  by  capture.  We  take  our  barbarians 
raw.  Men  in  clothes  are  hardly  counted  as 
anthropes." 

"Don't  talk  nonsense,"  she  said,  sliding  one 
arm  round  his  pyjamas  and  rubbing  her  cheek 
against  his  shoulder.  "  Now,  listen  to  this  !  " 

Holding  up  the  paper  in  one  hand,  she  went 
on  reading:  "'There  is  no  doubt  that  Mr. 
Cranleigh,  whose  volume  on  his  adventures  in  the 
Solomon  Islands  we  noticed  in  these  colums  a  few 
weeks  ago,  must  now  be  reckoned  among  the 
foremost  anthropologists  of  this  or  any  other  age. 
His  lecture  before  the  Society  last  night  was  little 
short  of  a  revelation.'  " 

"Revelation's  good,"  he  murmured;  "but 
don't  shake  my  sword-arm  !  " 


THE    PINNACLE    OF    FAME  347 

"  Be  quiet,  you  naughty  child  ! "  she  said, 
kissing  his  sleeve.  "  Now  it  goes  on  :  '  It  is  not 
only  that  Mr.  Cranleigh  has  enriched  biological 
science  by  his  discovery  upon  an  outlying  island 
of  the  horned  creature  with  digitated  feet  and 
a  prehensile  tail  which  may  perhaps  occupy  the 
startling  gap  hitherto  existing  between  the  ox,  the 
bear,  and  the  anthropoid  ape,  and  will,  as  we  are 
to-day  informed,  carry  Mr.  Cranleigh 's  name 
down  with  honour  to  remote  generations.  It  is 
not  only  this,  but  by  his  accurate  observations 
upon  the  folklore  (as  it  has  become  the  fashion 
to  call  it)  of  the  islanders  themselves,  he  has  also 
further  advanced  our  knowledge  of  the  trans- 
cendent fact '  " 

"  Of  the  what  ?  "  he  groaned. 

*  *  Now,  please  don't  interrupt, "  she  said.  ' '  Oh, 
here  it  is  :  *  Our  knowledge  of  the  transcendent 
fact  that  even  the  most  primitive  and  ignorant  of 
mankind  are  one  with  ourselves  in  origin  and 
basic  ideas,  and  are  therefore,  we  may  confi- 
dently trust,  capable  of  being  inoculated  with  the 
same  religious  beliefs  and  social  aspirations  as 
have  raised  our  Western  civilisation  to  its  present 
pitch  of  moral  advancement  and  material  pros- 
perity.' " 


348  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"  O  Lord,  deliver  them  !  "  he  said. 

"  *  Nor  must  we  forget,'  "  she  went  on  reading, 
— "  'nor  must  we  forget  in  our  estimate  of  Mr. 
Cranleigh's  services  to  the  world  of  science,  that 
sooner  or  later  the  Empire  profits  by  every  fresh 
contact  between  uncivilised  man  and  the  pioneers 
of  our  dominant  race,  and  that  in  the  struggle 
for  markets  which  has  now  become  the  leading 
motif,  so  to  speak,  in  the  world's  great  symphony, 
every  achievement  such  as  his  is  a  starting-point 
from  which  infinite  advantage  may  accrue  to  our 
world-wide  trade,  to  our  merchant-princes  and 
the  incalculable  commercial  destinies  which  they 
control,  and  so,  by  a  process  of  permeation,  to 
our  poorer  brethren  among  the  working  classes 
and  to  all  other  members  and  associates  in  the 
body  politic.'  " 

"  Corrugated  iron,  barbed  wire,  second-hand 
clothes,  gin,  unspeakable  diseases,  indistinguish- 
able ruin,  and  a  missionary  to  slime  over  our 
consciences  !  "  said  Cranleigh,  wiping  his  razor. 

"Never  mind,"  she  answered.  "There's  lots 
more  of  it,  and  it's  fame.  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  ! 
Everybody  in  England  will  be  talking  about  you 
to-day.  They'll  almost  think  as  much  of  you  as 
I  do  !  " 


THE    PINNACLE    OF    FAME  349 

"One  or  two  old  buffers  at  the  Athenaeum  will 
be  wagging  their  bald  heads  and  asking  each 
other  what  I've  done  to  make  such  a  fuss  about," 
he  said.  "  But  now  I  must  have  my  bath, 
darling.  I  shall  be  down  in  a  minute." 

"  Don't  be  long,"  she  said,  kissing  him  again. 
"  There's  such  a  funny-looking  little  letter  for 
you  !  It's  a  woman's  hand,  and  it  has  got  a  crest 
on  it.  Think  of  having  a  crest  in  these  days  !  " 

"Merely  a  survival  of  the  totem,  or  perhaps 
of  the  worship  of  transmigrating  ancestors,"  he 
answered  and  disappeared  with  his  towel. 

When  he  came  down  into  the  sunshiny  little 
room  looking  over  Battersea  Park,  he  took  up 
the  paper  again,  to  see  what  the  reporter  had 
made  of  his  lecture,  and  found  that  all  the 
important  points  had  been  cut  out,  and  what 
remained  read  like  a  panegyric  on  British 
progress. 

"  Oh,  confound  these  newspapers!"  he  cried. 
"They  garble  every  single  thing.  I  wonder 
what  a  Jerusalem  editor  would  have  left  of 
Isaiah  !  *  Who  hath  believed  our  report  ?  ' — I 
suppose  that  might  have  stood." 

"Now,  don't  be  nasty,  please,"  she  said. 
"The  test  of  a  really  nice  husband  is  to  be 


350  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

amiable  at  breakfast.  Here's  your  funny  little 
letter." 

"Bovine  and  herbivorous  creature  carrying  a 
banner  with  a  strange  device,"  he  said,  looking 
at  the  crest  on  the  back  of  the  envelope.  "  Now, 
if  that's  a  real  totem,  the  whole  family  is  ex- 
cluded for  ever  from  the  joys  of  horse-radish 
sauce." 

"  Forwarded  from  the  publishers,  you  see," 
she  said. 

"  Yes,  didn't  know  our  address,"  he  answered, 
glancing  through  the  letter.  "  Now  listen  :  this 
is  really  rather  magnificent.  It  is  almost  as 
good  as  your  leader  : — 

'"Dear  Mr.  Cranleigh, 

"  'I  must  ask  you  to  believe  that  I  am  not  one  of 
those  who  are  always  writing  to  authors  about  their 
books.  Indeed,  I  have  never  done  so  before.  But 
your  book  is  so  different  from  the  others,  and  I  have 
taken  such  delight  in  it !  Ever  since  I  was  a  girl  I 
have  dreamed  of  a  book  by  a  man  who  was  poet  and 
hero  combined,  and  now  I  feel  that  I  am  almost  in- 
timate with  you  already.  May  I  not  be  allowed  a  more 
personal  knowledge  of  one  whose  work  I  admire  so 
much?  Will  you  not  come  to  see  me  here?  Any  day 
— or  why  not  to-morrow,  about  four  ?  I  shall  be  alone 
and  we  can  have  a  delightful  talk  about  all  your 
wanderings.  My  husband  is  much  engaged  upon  what 


THE    PINNACLE    OF    FAME  851 

people  call  pleasure ;  else  I  think  he  would  join  in  my 
invitation.      Though,    of    course,    our  tastes    are   not 
necessarily  similar.     Why  should  they  be? 
"  '  Yours  most  sincerely, 

"  'AMY  L.  MOBERLY  CORSER.'" 

"That's  very  nice  of  her,  isn't  it?"  said 
Cranleigh  with  a  little  laugh. 

"  Let  me  look,"  Christabel  answered,  and 
holding  the  paper  ever  so  little  nearer  her  nose 
than  was  necessary  for  sight,  she  drew  in  her 
breath.  But  she  was  wrong. 

"Brook  Street,"  she  said.  "That's  rather 
fashionable,  isn't  it?" 

"Richish,  but  rather  decent  sort  of  people," 
he  answered. 

"  Gilded  mediocrity  ?  "  she  suggested. 

"  Better  than  that,"  he  said  ;  "  professional  sort 
of  people — good  barristers  and  doctors,  well-paid 
officials,  and  an  occasional  lord." 

"  Not  quite  the  sort  of  people  you  would  most 
detest,"  she  answered. 

"Oh,  no — not  the  very  worst  at  all.  Not  the 
kind,  though,  to  supply  the  portentous  millionaire 
who  is  to  fit  out  my  next  expedition." 

"We  were  married  twenty-three  and  a  half 
days  before  you  went  out  last  time.  You  were 


352  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

gone  eighteen  months.  You  have  been  back 
eight  weeks,  and  now  you  want  to  leave  me 
again  !  " 

The  words  were  protesting,  but  the  smile  en- 
dearingly happy. 

"I  don't  want  to  leave  you,"  he  said,  putting 
his  hand  up  her  thin  sleeve  to  touch  the  soft 
inward  of  her  arm.  "I  don't  want  to  leave 
you,  I  only  want  to  go." 

"But  I  can't  go  with  you — I  can't  now,"  she 
said,  looking  away;  " any  more  than  I  can  go 
to  your  delightful  talk  with  Mrs.  Amy  What's- 
her-name." 

"  Well,  why  shouldn't  you  come  to  her?  " 

"  Her  face  would  be  worth  seeing  when  I 
walked  in  before  you,"  she  answered. 

"Then  why  not  see  it?"  he  asked. 

"  What  is  it  she  says  about  her  husband  ?  "  she 
went  on.  "'Our  tastes  are  not  necessarily 
similar.  Why  should  they  be  ?  '  Why,  indeed  ?  " 

"Well,  that's  very  sensible." 

"Am  I  very  sensible?"  she  asked,  and  she 
held  his  hand  against  her  heart. 

"I  only  meant,"  he  said  soothingly,  "it's  so 
dreary  to  assume  husband  and  wife  think  exactly 
the  same  about  everything." 


THE    PINNACLE    OF    FAME  353 

"I  don't  want  to  be  husband  and  wife,"  she 
said. 

"  But  we  can  hardly  help  it  now,  dearest.  You 
once  thought  you  would  like  it.  What  is  it  you 
want  to  be  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  never  mind, "  she  said.  "  When  will  you 
go  ?  This  afternoon  ?  " 

"  I  hadn't  even  thought  of  going.  But  still 
there  is  nothing  much  to  do  to-day  now  that  the 
lecture's  over." 

"  And  she  so  longs  for  a  more  personal  know- 
ledge, though  she  feels  almost  intimate  with  you 
already.  I  suppose  that's  how  she  knew  you  were 
a  poet  and  hero  combined.  I  didn't  know  it.  I'm 
afraid  we  two  have  never  been  quite  intimate,  have 
we?  'Strangers  yet, 'as  my  old  aunt  used  to  sing!" 

"Now  if  you  talk  like  that,"  he  said,  kneeling 
at  her  side  and  taking  her  tenderly  in  his  arms 
while  she  laughed  with  mocking  affection — "if 
you  talk  like  that,  I  shan't  go  at  all !  " 

"  I  wasn't  exactly  urging  you  to  go,"  she  said ; 
"  but  it  would  be  a  pity  to  give  up  what  people 
call  pleasure,  as  she  says  of  her  husband.  I 
wonder  what  he  does  call  pleasure  ?  " 

"Oh,  I   don't  know — shooting,   riding,  races, 
cricket — one  can't  tell." 
2  A 


354  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"No,  "she  said,  "he's  not  that  sort  of  man. 
She  wouldn't  have  talked  about  a  hero  then.  He 
plays  bridge  all  day,  or  he  loafs,  or  haunts  the 
stage-doors.  Perhaps  he  drinks.  No  wonder!" 

"Don't  be  spiteful,  dearest.  Poor  woman! 
Very  likely  she  has  a  pretty  bad  time  ;  many 
women  do,  you  know." 

"Solemn  thought !  "  she  sighed. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on,  deliberating,  "it's  rather 
a  nuisance,  but  I  think  perhaps  I  ought  to  go. 
I  don't  see  much  of  the  outside  world.  I  wish  I 
did,  but  it  is  the  same  with  us  all  :  science  is 
certainly  narrowing." 

"Am  I  narrowing  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Or  are  you 
referring  to  the  Pacific  Ocean  ?  " 

"Well,  seriously  now,"  he  said,  taking  her  left 
hand  and  twisting  the  delicate  little  fingers  in  and 
out  of  his,  as  a  New  Guinea  native  plays  cat's 
cradle — "seriously,  I  suppose  I  may  as  well  go. 
It  doesn't  much  matter  one  way  or  other." 

"Seriously,  it  is  one  of  the  penalties  of  fame," 
she  exclaimed  in  a  voice  of  mock  tragedy. 

"  Besides,  it  would  evidently  give  the  woman  a 
certain  amount  of  pleasure,  and  it  isn't  often  one 
can  give  pleasure  so  easily." 

"Thank  heaven,   you   cannot  say  that    I   am 


THE    PINNACLE    OF    FAME  355 

easily  pleased,"  she  answered.  "  And  to  think 
she  has  never  done  such  a  thing  before  as  write 
to  an  author  about  his  book  !  Just  imagine  what 
it  must  have  cost  her  !  Oh,  she  will  be  overjoyed, 
poor  retiring  thing  !  " 

"Well,  you  needn't  mock,"  he  said.  "I've 
known  other  women  glad  to  see  me,  and  one  of 
them  was  infinitely  sweeter  than  she  is  likely  to 
be." 

"  Dearest,"  she  said,  stroking  his  hair,  "that 
horrid  sun  has  bleached  you  terribly.  You  are 
quite  respectably  grizzled.  I'm  so  glad  I  got  the 
publishers  to  put  that  old  picture  of  you  in  the 
book.  Your  hair  was  all  black  then — beautifully 
black  and  fluffy.  You  remember  that  summer 
time  when  first — you  remember?" 

"Oh,  a  man  really  can't  bother  about  his 
looks/'  he  said.  "That  can't  be  helped.  If  he 
does  anything,  he's  sure  to  show  it." 

"If  he  does  nothing,  he  shows  It  worse,"  she 
said.  "  I  love  your  brinded  hair." 

"Then  why  do  you  call  it  respectable  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  was  only  thinking  about 
that  picture.  I  like  everyone  who  reads  the  book 
to  see  you  just  as  I  saw  you  first.  What  clothes 
will  you  go  in  ?  " 


356  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"Oh,  that  doesn't  matter.  Nobody  notices  a 
man's  clothes." 

"  Of  course  not ;  but  I  expect  you  ought  to  go 
in  a  frock  coat  and  tall  hat  by  rights." 

"  Haven't  got  either,"  he  said,  looking  at  the 
newspaper. 

"  No,  "she  answered,  "but  I  tell  you  what — 
you  must  go  as  a  poet  and  hero  combined — the 
broad-brimmed  hat  and  the  angular  suit  you  had 
made  at  Singapore  !  That  will  be  characteristic, 
at  all  events." 

"Why  not?"  he  asked.  "It's  quite  decent 
and  comfortable.  For  a  native  tailor  it's  not  half 
bad." 

"  I  tell  you,  it's  just  the  thing  for  a  hero  and 
poet  combined,  especially  the  hero.  And  I  like 
you  in  those  bluey  greys  ;  they  match  your  dear 
hair." 

"Besides, "he  said  conclusively,  "they're  the 
only  things  I've  got." 

"To  be  sure,"  she  answered,  "and  the  Times 
leader  will  cover  all  deficiencies,  just  as  well  as  a 
neatly  made  patch." 

"She  will  have  been  interested  to  see  that — 
the  very  same  day  too,  as  it  happens.  I  suppose 
she's  a  pretty  keen  student  of  science.  I  hope  she 


THE    PINNACLE    OF    FAME  357 

won't  want  to  hear  the  whole  lecture  through, 
though  it's  the  best  thing  I've  ever  done." 

"  Have  /  ever  wanted  to  hear  the  whole  lecture 
through  ?  "  she  asked  innocently. 

"Well,  no,  but  you're  not  exactly  scientific. 
Besides,  we've  got  other  things  to  talk  about, 
haven't  we  ?  "  and  he  caressed  her  again. 

"There,   dearest— there "  she  said.      "Of 

course  she's  scientific,  and  scientific  women  never 
have  other  things  to  talk  about,  have  they  ?  I 
wonder  what  time  you'll  get  back." 

"  Well,  if  I  once  begin  talking  about  the 
islanders,  I  go  on,  as  you  know.  It  depends  how 
long  she  lets  me  rip." 

"Ah,  yes!  I  had  forgotten  about  the  islanders, " 
she  said  with  a  little  sigh.  "I'll  say  dinner  at 
half-past  seven.  There'll  still  be  time  to  take  me 
a  little  way  along  the  Embankment  in  the  even- 
ing, won't  there  ?  even  though  you  have  had  an 
admiring  leader  all  to  yourself  in  the  morning  and 
an  admiring  lady  all  to  yourself  in  the  afternoon." 

"Dear  heart,"  he  said,  "I  won't  go  at  all  if 
you  don't  want  me  to.  I'm  sure  I  don't  care  one 
way  or  the  other." 

"  I  long  for  you  to  go,"  she  answered. 

As  he  crossed  Battersea  Bridge  that  afternoon, 


358  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

and  made  his  way  by  'bus  to  Hyde  Park  Corner, 
London  was  as  gay  as  can  be  under  her  white 
sunshine,  untouched  with  gold.  He  was  securely 
happy  and  at  ease.  Walking  slowly  along  the 
Park,  he  looked  at  the  people  and  the  carriages 
with  that  kindly  and  good-tempered  sympathy 
which  only  success  can  give.  All  the  world  seemed 
remarkably  contented  and  satisfied  with  itself. 
Horses  glittered,  men  imparted  information, 
women  assumed  virtue  or  vice  according  as  they 
had  it  not,  nursemaids  fluttered,  loungers  stared, 
footmen  maintained  an  air  of  passive  resignation. 
To  all  of  them  the  summer  sun  had  brought  their 
best  opportunity,  and  all  were  playing  their 
special  parts  to  the  very  height  of  their  power. 
In  no  other  city  of  the  world,  thought  Cranleigh, 
could  the  thing  have  been  done  with  such  serious- 
ness and  to  such  perfection.  After  all,  there  was 
something  pleasing  and  piquant  in  the  change 
from  the  Solomon  Islands. 

"  *  Breathes  there  a  man  with  soul  so  dead  ? ' ' 
he  quoted  to  himself  as  a  middle-aged  woman, 
glancing  down  her  long  nose  at  the  pug-dog  in 
her  lap,  was  dragged  past  him  by  two  sparkling 
horses  under  the  charge  of  two  powerfully  built 
men. 


THE    PINNACLE    OF    FAME  359 

Every  now  and  then,  in  the  midst  of  his 
pleasurable  interest,  came  the  secret  little  joy  of 
triumph.  After  the  long  years  of  obscurity,  it 
certainly  was  very  pleasant  to  emerge  ever  so  little. 
At  last  he  counted  for  something.  He  laughed 
at  the  praise  of  the  Times,  but  still  it  was  praise. 
Probably  half  the  men  there  had  seen  his  name 
that  morning  in  one  paper  or  another,  and  re- 
membered him  vaguely  as  someone  to  be  envied. 
They  did  not  know  that  the  man  who  had  sud- 
denly risen  to  fame  was  quietly  watching  them 
from  inside  the  railings. 

"And  it  isn't  only  the  men,"  he  reflected 
with  another  little  ripple  of  pleasure.  "On  my 
word,  I  have  almost  raised  myself  to  the  position 
of  a  pug-dog.  I  must  hurry  up  or  I  shall  be  late 
after  all." 

It  struck  four  as  he  rang  the  bell,  and  the  door 
was  opened  by  an  immortal  soul  in  uniform,  who 
received  Cranleigh's  cheerful  greeting  of  "  Good 
afternoon "  with  eyes  fixed  vacantly  upon  the 
purple  of  eternity  at  an  infinite  distance  in  space. 
Mrs.  Moberly  Corser  was  at  home. 

He  was  shown  into  a  small  room  curtained  off 
from  one  much  larger,  through  which  he  passed 
first,  successfully  avoiding  all  the  little  tables, 


360  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

Turkish  stools,  and  fur  rugs,  over  which  it  would 
have  been  so  easy  to  stumble.  "  It  is  like  navi- 
gating an  archipelago,"  he  thought  to  himself. 

It  was  a  relief  to  find  that  the  inner  room  was 
comparatively  empty,  though  the  light  was  much 
subdued  by  curtains  and  embroidered  blinds 
that  almost  covered  the  windows.  In  front  of  the 
fireplace  three  white  lilies  stood,  filling  the  air 
with  their  heavy  sweetness,  and  above  the  mantel- 
piece hung  a  dimly  visible  painting  of  the  "  Rape 
of  Proserpine,"  which  had  been  conspicuous  in 
the  New  Gallery  a  few  years  before. 

He  had  hardly  become  accustomed  to  the  cool 
obscurity  when  the  folding  curtains  parted  and  a 
woman  stood  for  a  moment  between  them  with 
her  figure  in  strong  relief  against  the  brightness 
of  the  outer  room.  As  she  just  turned  sideways 
to  draw  the  curtains  together  again,  Cranleigh 
saw  that  her  golden  and  delicately  fitting  dress 
was  modelled  on  the  Proserpine,  with  only  such 
additions  as  are  required  by  the  difference  between 
Hyde  Park  and  Eleusis. 

"  Oh,  how  good  of  you  to  come  at  once  !  "  she 
cried  as  she  advanced.  "It  is  so  depressing  to 
wait  for  pleasures.  If  you  wait,  they  are  quite 
different  before  they  come.  But  in  fact  your 


THE    PINNACLE    OF    FAME  361 

book  has  made  me  feel  that  we  have  met  already, 
as  I  told  you." 

She  gave  him  a  soft  little  hand,  which  his 
seemed  to  engulf. 

"It  is  very  nice  of  you  to  say  so,"  Cranleigh 
answered.  "  Of  course  I  saw  from  your  letter 
that  we  were  both  deeply  interested  in  the  same 
branch  of  science." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied.  "And  yet  the  interest  of 
your  book  is  not  its  science,  but  its  life.  At  least, 
to  me  that  is  its  interest.  It  takes  one  into  a  new 
and  glorious  world,  free  from  the  common  round, 
the  trivial  task,  that  people  dull  their  souls  with 
pretending  to  like." 

"Certainly,"  he  said,  "there  is  always  some- 
thing very  attractive  among  primitive  peoples, 
and  it  is  only  by  living  with  them  that  we  can 
properly  study  what  we  call  origins.  They  take 
us  back  at  a  stride  into  other  periods  of  mankind." 

"It  must  be  so  splendid,"  she  said,  "to  pass 
from  the  steamer  into  the  Stone  Age,  and  by  a 
step  to  cast  off  all  the  trammels  of  conventional 
existence.  That  is  what  I  should  love." 

"Of  course  you  would,"  said  Cranleigh. 
"That  is  what  I  like  too.  It  is  always  interest- 
ing to  watch  the  growth  or  the  decay  of  conven- 


362  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

dons.  Up  to  a  certain  point  they  certainly  do 
grow  with  increasing  civilisation,  and  some  of 
them  continue  to  develop  indefinitely.  A  de- 
corated room  like  this  is  a  convention  that  it  has 
taken  immense  ages  to  develop  from  nests  like 
the  bower  bird's.  But  as  a  rule  conventions  seem 
to  rise  to  a  climax  and  to  become  less  strict  after 
a  certain  stage." 

"A  stage  we  are  far  enough  from  having 
reached  in  London,"  she  said  with  a  sigh. 

"Oh,  we  have  passed  it  long  ago,"  said  Cran- 
leigh  gaily.  "Why,  there  have  been  ages,  and 
there  are  plenty  of  races  still,  in  which  conven- 
tion in  the  shape  of  a  husband  would  cut  off  a 
woman's  hand  if  she  were  found  conversing  on 
anthropology  as  we  are  conversing  now  !  " 

"Even  with  us  convention  sometimes  takes 
the  shape  of  a  husband,"  she  said,  laughing. 
"But  no  one  would  object  to  such  conventions 
as  you  describe.  They  would  make  life  splendid 
—like  a  succession  of  Arabian  Nights  !  One 
would  risk  a  hand  or  two  for  that !  " 

She  laughed  softly  again,  and  leaning  far  back 
in  her  deep,  low  chair  she  held  up  a  hand  in  a 
thin  shaft  of  sunshine  that  came  in  through  the 
blinds,  so  that  the  divisions  between  her  fingers 


THE    PINNACLE    OF    FAME  363 

shone  red.  The  light  was  caught  and  reflected 
in  the  brilliant  dark  eyes  and  along  the  soft  lines 
of  the  figure,  visible  under  the  folds  of  daffodil 
silk. 

Cranleigh  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in 
silence,  and  as  he  looked  a  flash  of  fire  passed 
through  him  unawares,  like  the  magic  sword 
that  cleaves  men  in  half  without  their  knowing  it 
till  they  shake  themselves  and  fall  asunder. 

"As  I  was  saying,"  he  exclaimed  suddenly, 
"there  is  no  subject  quite  so  interesting  as 
the  study  of  origins.  I'm  sure  you  think  so 
too  !  " 

"Indeed  I  do,"  she  answered,  gently  fondling 
one  hand  with  the  other.  "This  commonplace 
and  bloodless  world  of  ours  !  Oh,  how  different 
life  would  be  in  a  country  such  as  that !  It  would 
be  a  shame  to  cut  it  off,  of  course,  and  yet  what 
woman  would  not  lose  a  hand  for  the  man  she 
really  loved?  " 

"Well,  you  know,"  he  said,  laughing  and 
moving  in  his  chair,  "even  out  there  most 
women  keep  both  their  hands  on  all  right.  I 
have  a  pamphlet  upon  the  custom  which  I  can 
send  you,  if  you  care  to  look  at  it." 

"Oh,  thank  you  so  much  !    Of  course  I  should. 


364  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

I  love  strange  things  like  that.  Are  they  very 
beautiful  ?  " 

' 'The  women  on  the  islands,  you  mean?  Oh, 
yes ;  beautifully  tattooed  sometimes.  Though 
a  dress  is  quite  as  beautiful  really,  I  think.  It  is 
difficult  to  get  to  know  much  about  the  women 
out  there,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that  a  man  had  to 
dance  extraordinarily  well  or  else  to  possess  a 
very  fine  series  of  his  enemies'  skulls  before  a 
nicely  tattooed  girl  would  propose  to  him  !  You 
remember,  of  course,  the  women  propose.  It  is 
probably  a  relic  of  matriarchy." 

"How  exquisitely  right!"  she  said.  "  The 
woman  ought  always  to  be  the  chooser.  There 
would  be  far  fewer  mistakes.  But  what  if  the 
man  refuses?  " 

"That  must  be  where  the  difficulty  comes  in," 
Cranleigh  admitted.  "It  is  impossible  for  any 
man  to  refuse  with  grace,  when  a  woman  pro- 
poses." 

"Yet  he  might  love  someone  better?"  she 
suggested. 

"  I  cannot  imagine  what  happens  in  a  case  like 
that,"  he  answered,  shaking  his  head,  with  a 
smile.  "It  must  be  terrible,  but  I  have  never 
had  an  opportunity  of  discovering." 


THE    PINNACLE    OF    FAME  365 

"  Legally,  of  course,"  she  said,  laughing  too, 
f 'the  rejected  woman  ought  to  have  the  right  to 
kill  him.  There  is  no  other  endurable  solution, 
is  there  ?  At  least  not  for  people  like  ourselves. 
But  very  likely  we  are  over-civilised  and  too 
fastidious  about  such  things.  I  suppose  those 
beautiful  island  women  are  far  less  complex,  less 
sensitive  and  highly  strung." 

"Oh,  not  at  all,"  said  Cranleigh.  "You 
remember,  we  tested  them." 

"Tested  them?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  with  a  pair  of  compasses,"  he  said, 
clasping  his  hands  round  one  knee  and  speaking 
in  his  most  matter-of-fact  manner.  "A  simple 
method,  but  the  best  we  could  manage.  You  try 
how  soon  the  points  are  felt,  and  how  soon  they 
are  recognised  as  two.  You  remember  we  found 
the  islanders  every  bit  as  sensitive  as  European 
women." 

"  Do  you  call  that  a  test  of  sensitiveness  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"Well,  it  was  the  best  we  had,"  he  said 
cheerfully. 

"And  do  you  herd  all  European  women 
together  ?  " 

"Science  cares  only  for  averages,"  he  answered. 


366  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"  I  know  women  who  would  shake  your 
averages,"  she  cried,  standing  up  and  moving 
quietly  past  him. 

"By  an  infinitesimal  point  of  decimals,"  he 
answered,  standing  up  too,  but  planting  his  heels 
firmly  together.  As  she  crossed  the  shaft  of  light 
and  sent  a  flash  of  gold  through  the  obscurity,  he 
felt  the  air  from  her  dress  undulate  against  him 
like  invisible  water. 

"  Is  it  not  horrible,"  she  said,  "that  one  should 
count  for  no  more  than  a  speck  of  dust  ?  What 
is  a  decimal  point  to  me — to  me  who  could 
sweep  round  the  earth  with  moon  and  stars  and 
think  them  small  ?  " 

"The  wonder  is,"  he  answered,  "that  any 
speck  of  dust  should  have  a  thought  so  vast." 

"Look,"  she  cried,  "this  is  our  only  life. 
Day  will  follow  day  till  we  die,  and  then  what 
shall  we  have  been  ?  How  much  of  us  that  we 
can  call  ourselves  will  have  existed  at  all  ?  It  all 
lies  here,  hidden  and  unknown.  Day  will  follow 
day  till  we  die,  and  it  will  never  be  known  and 
never  used.  Speck  of  dust  as  I  am,  nearly  the 
whole  of  me  might  just  as  well  never  have  existed. 
What  has  been  the  good  of  an  infinite  soul  and 
all  the  rest  of  it  to  me?  I  shall  die  wasted." 


THE    PINNACLE    OF    FAME  367 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Cranleigh  with  deter- 
mined calmness.  "Many  women  would  envy 
your  life  in  a  home  like  this.  I  am  very  sorry 
you  don't  like  it." 

"Oh,  please,  don't  talk  like  that,"  she  an- 
swered. "Don't  talk  about  likes  and  dislikes. 
It  is  so  much  more  than  that.  Or  come  now," 
she  added,  standing  opposite  him,  "to  use  your 
own  word,  how  would  you  like  it  yourself?  " 

"Well,"  he  said,  laughing  and  looking  away 
as  though  to  consider  the  point  more  dispassion- 
ately, "  I  don't  suppose  I  should  care  for  it  very 
much.  But  then  so  many  people  wouldn't  care 
about  things  that  suit  me  well  enough." 

"What  sort  of  things  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Oh,  nothing  particularly  glorious,"  he  said. 
"  But  I  like  working  at  the  little  patch  of  science, 
which  is  interesting  even  to  you.  And  then 
I  am  perfectly  happy  living  with  savages,  and 
navigating  a  boat,  or  standing  all  day  on  a  plat- 
form above  the  sea,  ready  to  plunge  the  harpoon 
into  a  dugong  as  it  passes." 

"Certainly  you  don't  ask  much,"  she  said 
with  a  little  sigh.  "But  most  people  don't  get 
even  that.  If  you  hadn't  got  it,  what  would  you 
have  done?" 


368  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"Oh  well,"  he  said,  looking  at  her  again  and 
laughing,  "I  suppose  I  should  have  worked  in 
a  bank  and  caught  moths  in  Battersea  Park." 

"Oh  no,  no!"  she  cried,  beginning  to  move 
softly  up  and  down  the  room  again.  "You  are 
only  laughing.  Is  there  nothing  more  than  that 
in  life?  Do  you  grant  nothing  for  splendid  fame, 
nothing  for  the  desire  of  perfection,  or  even  for 
such  things  as  ordinary  love  and  hatred  ?  " 

"Certainly,"  he  said  in  the  same  deliberately 
quiet  voice.  "I  allow  for  all  that  sort  of  thing  too. 
Like  Darwin,  I  include  the  domestic  affections. 
4  Work  and  the  domestic  affections, '  you  re- 
member he  said,  were  all  that  is  needed.  What 
more  can  one  want?" 

"What  more  ?"  she  cried  scornfully,  quicken- 
ing her  pace  a  very  little.  "What  more  can  one 
want  ?  I  want  a  whole  bodily  and  spiritual  universe 
besides  !  and  so  do  you,  and  so  does  everybody  ! 
I  want  to  float  down  black  rivers  under  the  stars, 
with  my  beloved  in  my  arms.  I  want  to  gallop 
far  over  the  desert,  my  crimson  cloak  streaming 
on  the  wind — gallop  so  fast  that  he  should  never 
catch  me,  though  I  longed  for  him.  I  want  to 
stand  with  him  in  the  front  of  war,  and  cherish 
him  in  caves  where  the  heroes  of  freedom  hide, 


THE    PINNACLE    OF    FAME  369 

I  want  to  sit  under  a  glittering  dome  and  rule  an 
empire  with  him  beside  me.  I  want  to  dwell  alone 
in  a  forest  at  the  edge  of  an  undiscovered  lake  and 
listen  day  and  night  to  the  water  and  the  sound 
of  the  trees,  till  suddenly  I  hear  a  far-off  horn.  I 
want  to  be  worshipped  by  a  city  because  I  stood 
all  night  naked  in  prayer  before  the  market  cross 
that  the  pestilence  might  be  stayed.  I  want  to 
strangle  the  tyrant  as  he  lies  asleep  at  my  side. 
I  want  to  watch  the  woman  I  hate  writhing  in  the 
embrace  of  a  man  she  despises.  I  want  to  drink 
pearls.  I  want  to  sweep  the  garret  of  genius.  I 
want  to  say  of  kings  they  are  my  slaves.  I  want 
the  moon  for  my  boat,  and  the  purple  skies  for 
my  curtains.  I  want  to  contemplate  the  symbols 
of  eternity  till  my  soul  sees  only  immortal  things. 
I  want  to  lie  upon  the  blue  breasts  of  the  infinite 
mother,  and  smile  at  the  stars  for  shining  and  at 
eternity  for  making  haste.  Those  are  a  few  of 
the  things  I  want,  and  what  is  the  good  of 
talking  to  me  about  work  and  the  domestic 
affections?" 

The  rich  voice  with  its  many  varied  tones  was 
still,  leaving  a  silence  audible  in  the  room.  She 
stood  close  before  him,  looking  at  him  fiercely  for 
a  moment,  and  as  she  turned  her  face  half  aside 

2  B 


370  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

he  saw  the  quick  movement  of  her  breast.  Again 
the  lightning  sword  slid  through  him,  and  he 
moved  one  hand  till  almost  imperceptibly  it 
touched  her  dress.  For  what  seemed  a  long  time 
neither  spoke,  but  he  knew  the  silence  was  full  of  a 
tremulous  intimacy. 

4 'These  things,"  he  said  at  last,  "must  not  be 
thought  after  these  ways  ;  so,  it  will  make  us  mad. 
Lady  Macbeth  said  so  after  a  mere  murder." 

"  Does  madness  matter  ?  "  she  said. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered;  "but  on  the 
whole,  I  think  sanity  gets  more  things  done." 

"  Does  that  matter  ?  "  she  said  again. 

"Very  likely  not,"  he  answered,  "except  for 
the  happiness  of  the  man  who  does  them." 

"I  have  a  good  mind  to  ask  if  that  matters 
either,"  she  said,  laughing,  "but  I  can't  be  so 
ungracious.  You  have  done  all  manner  of  wonder- 
ful things." 

"  Oh  dear  no  !  "  he  said,  with  a  sense  of  relief, 
as  when  a  struggling  swimmer  feels  the  ground 
again  under  his  feet.  "I  have  neither  done  nor 
seen  anything  at  all  remarkable.  It  has  all  been 
on  quite  a  commonplace  and  paltry  level.  In 
two  minutes  you  have  called  up  more  splendid 
visions  of  life  than  I  have  seen  in  forty  years." 


THE    PINNACLE    OF    FAME  371 

"  What  is  the  good  of  visions?"  she  said. 
"  Was  there  not  a  lady  who  said,  '  I  am  half  sick 
of  shadows  ?  '  What  you  have  done  has  been  solid 
and  real." 

"That  doesn't  make  much  difference,"  he  an- 
swered. "  The  very  strangest  situations  always 
seem  to  me  quite  matter-of-course  when  I  am  in 
them." 

"I  believe  you  think  me  quite  a  matter-of- 
course,"  she  said  swiftly. 

His  hand  that  had  touched  her  dress  just 
touched  her  wrist,  and  his  spirit  swayed  as  though 
he  had  been  walking  on  an  earthquake.  Slowly, 
hair's-breadth  by  hair's-breadth,  the  fingers  stole 
down  into  her  palm  till  hers  just  bent  round  and 
touched  them. 

"  Don't  say  that,"  he  said  at  last  in  a  voice  that 
sounded  strange  to  him.  "Don't  say  that, 
because  it  is  not  true." 

She  turned  towards  him  without  raising  her 
head,  and  he  felt  the  light  folds  of  her  dress. 

The  thin  ray  of  light,  which  gleamed  with 
prismatic  dust  in  the  obscurity,  now  fell  upon 
him,  and  by  one  of  those  tricks  with  which  the 
humorous  spirit  delights  to  mock  itself  when 
emotion  is  running  high,  he  suddenly  became 


372  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

conscious  of  all  the  errors  and  deficiencies  in  his 
appearance,  which  had  never  given  him  a  mo- 
ment's trouble  before.  He  was  conscious  that 
the  light  was  shining  on  his  silvered  hair,  and 
as  though  he  were  looking  at  some  caricature, 
he  felt  the  bulging  trousers,  the  short  waistcoat, 
the  skimpiness  of  the  jacket  across  the  chest, 
and  the  troublesome  way  it  had  of  folding  back- 
wards in  deep  wrinkles  instead  of  hanging 
straight.  He  remembered  the  immense  efforts  of 
the  Singapore  tailor  and  his  childlike  joy  over  so 
conspicuous  a  triumph  in  European  ways. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  with  much  apparent  incon- 
sequence— "you  see,  I  am  in  love  with  my  wife." 

In  the  silence  he  heard  a  clock  slowly  ticking 
somewhere  in  the  outer  room. 

"That  must  be  very  pleasant,"  she  said  at 
last,  when  the  clock  had  already  ticked  through 
some  bars  of  "  Home,  Sweet  Home,"  that  was 
running  in  his  head.  "One  sometimes  forgets 
that  it  is  possible." 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  answered,  "  it  is  possible." 

"And  you  have  your  patch  of  science  as  well," 
she  went  on,  gently  separating  her  hand  from  his, 
"and  your  savages  and  dugongs,  and  fame  be- 
sides !  " 


THE    PINNACLE    OF    FAME  373 

"Why  should  you  turn  and  rend  me?"  he 
said. 

1  'Well,"  she  answered,  "you  said  the  other 
things  were  what  you  liked,  and  you  have  love 
and  fame  to  crown  them  all.  I  suppose  they 
count  for  something.  Work  and  the  domestic 
affections — as  you  say,  what  more  do  you  want  ?  " 

"Nothing  more,"  he  said  resolutely — "no- 
thing more,  except  a  whole  bodily  and  spiritual 
universe  !  " 

She  raised  her  eyes  slowly  to  his  and  smiled. 

"Then  we  can  almost  cry  quits  after  all,"  she 
said.  "Almost!"  she  repeated  with  a  long- 
drawn  breath. 

"My  dear!  my  dear!"  called  an  impatient 
voice  at  the  further  end  of  the  long  room,  whilst 
a  door  was  heard  to  open  suddenly.  "Where 
are  you,  my  dear  ?  Are  you  there  ?  " 

"That  is  my  convention,"  she  said,  giving 
Cranleigh  both  her  hands  for  a  moment,  and  then 
moving  back  towards  the  sofa.  "Yes,  James, 
we  are  here,"  she  went  on,  raising  her  voice  a 
little.  "Mr.  Cranleigh  has  come  to  see  us,  and 
your  arrival  is  what  people  call  providential,  for 
he  was  just  going  away.  Let  me  introduce — 
Mr.  Corser— Mr.  Cranleigh." 


374  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"  Delighted,  my  dear,  delighted,  I'm  sure," 
said  a  portly  person,  who  threw  open  the  curtains 
and  came  forward  in  the  dim  light.  "But  I  do 
wish,  my  love,  you  would  not  insist  on  living  in 
a  dark  room  like  a  photographer.  It  is  quite 
embarrassing." 

"Oh  no,"  she  answered.  "It  is  the  light 
that  is  sometimes  embarrassing.  But  you  may 
draw  up  the  blind  and  put  the  curtains  back  if 
you  like.  I  think  the  sun  must  have  gone  off 
the  windows.  The  air  seems  to  have  turned 
positively  chilly.  You  know  the  feeling,  Mr. 
Cranleigh,  when  they  turn  up  the  lights  in  a 
theatre  at  the  end  of  a  play  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "or  when  one  comes  out  into 
the  daylight  from  a  midsummer  matinee." 

"After  all,"  she  said,  "it  is  only  a  return  to 
sanity — to  that  sanity  you  are  so  fond  of."  She 
sank  back  on  the  low  sofa,  and  after  one  glance 
at  Cranleigh,  who  was  now  standing  in  the  full 
light,  she  silently  closed  her  eyes. 

"Well,  Mr.  Cranleigh,"  said  her  husband  in  a 
hearty  and  comfortable  tone  as  he  came  back 
from  the  window,  "  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you. 
I  heard  someone  or  other  mention  your  name  at 
the  club  only  just  now,  and  I  saw  there  was 


THE    PINNACLE    OF    FAME  375 

something  about  you  in  the  Times  this  morning 
too." 

"  Yes,"  said  Cranleigh.  "I  always  read  the 
Times  myself ;  it  seems  to  give  a  solidity  to  one's 
day." 

"  I  quite  agree,"  said  the  other.  "The  day  is 
incomplete  without  the  Times.  But  this  morning, 
just  as  I  was  looking  at  the  leading  articles,  my 
eldest  little  girl  came  in  with  a  bad  headache. 
How  does  Elsie  seem  this  evening,  my  dear?" 

"  You  didn't  tell  me  there  was  anything  in  the 
paper  about  Mr.  Cranleigh,"  she  said. 

"Oh  well,"  he  answered,  "you  don't  take 
much  interest  in  scientific  things  as  a  rule.  You 
would  hardly  believe  it,  Mr.  Cranleigh,  but  I 
really  think  you  are  the  first  man  of  science  my 
wife  has  taken  a  fancy  to  since  we  married.  It 
was  all  that  book  of  yours !  I  brought  it  back 
from  Mudie's  because  I  am  a  scientific  man 
myself.  I  don't  say  she  read  very  much  of  it. 
It  was  the  portrait  captivated  her.  I  assure  you, 
it  made  me  quite  jealous,  didn't  it,  my  love  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Cranleigh  has  been  telling  me  some 
horrible  stories  of  how  savages  treat  their  women, " 
she  said,  turning  one  cheek  against  the  cushion. 
"  He  has  seen  such  unusual  things  !  " 


376  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"I  envy  you,"  said  her  husband  to  Cranleigh. 
11 1  wish  I  had  the  time  to  go  gadding  about  the 
world.  It  must  be  very  pleasant  if  you  have  the 
means.  I  should  do  just  like  you  if  only  I  could 
afford  it." 

"You  see,  the  Society  and  the  University 
clubbed  together  to  fit  out  the  expedition,"  said 
Cranleigh. 

"That  makes  a  difference,  of  course,"  said  the 
other,  standing  in  front  of  the  lilies  in  the  fire- 
place, and  putting  his  hands  behind  his  back  by 
inherited  instinct.  "But  if  they  had  offered  me 
such  a  post,  I  should  have  had  to  refuse  it,  as 
being  a  family  man.  Shouldn't  I,  my  love?" 

"Mr.  Cranleigh  didn't  refuse  it,"  she  said, 
"  and  he  is  married  too." 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  not  a  good  family  man  at  all," 
said  Cranleigh,  laughing. 

"Of  course  everyone  must  judge  of  his  own 
duty,"  said  Mr.  Corser,  "but  I  am  always  on 
the  side  of  self-sacrifice.  Any  woman  worthy  of 
the  name  will  sacrifice  herself  for  her  children, 
and  in  my  opinion  the  same  ought  to  be  true 
of  a  man.  Within  limits — I  mean— within  reason- 
able limits,  of  course.  I  have  already  asked  you 
how  Elsie  is  this  afternoon,  my  love.  Her  head 


THE    PINNACLE    OF    FAME  377 

was  very  hot  when  I  went  to  the  club  before 
lunch,  and  I  didn't  quite  like  the  look  of  Basil, 
or  of  baby  either,  for  that  matter.  Before  I 
went  out,  I  told  the  nurse  exactly  what  to  do, 
but  I  see  from  the  Times  there  is  quite  an  epi- 
demic of  measles  raging  in  the  slums  of  Notting 
Hill — rather  dangerously  close. 

"  Forgive  these  domestic  details,  Mr.  Cran- 
leigh, "  he  went  on  after  a  contemplative  pause. 
"As  an  anthropologist,  you  must  recognise  the 
all-importance  of  race.  I  consider  it  a  citizen's 
duty  to  be  extremely  careful  about  his  children, 
and  above  all  to  select  his  wife  entirely  with  a 
view  to  heredity.  It  is  on  that  account,  I  am 
proud  to  say,  that  my  own  marriage  has  been  so 
extraordinarily  successful.  Hasn't  it,  my  love?" 

He  sat  down  close  by  her  side  upon  the  sofa, 
and,  laying  one  hand  upon  her  lap,  tried  playfully 
with  the  other  to  turn  her  averted  face  towards 
his.  Quietly  rising,  she  came  into  the  middle  of 
the  room. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  have  to  go,  Mr.  Cranleigh," 
she  said.  "  It  was  so  very  kind  of  you  to  come, 
and  I  have  so  much  enjoyed  all  you  told  me 
about  your  travels.  Please  give  my  kind  regards 
to  Mrs.  Cranleigh.  Of  course  you  will  be  going 


378  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

away  again  soon.  I  wonder  if  we  shall  meet 
again." 

"I  wonder,"  said  Cranleigh,  taking  the  soft 
little  hand  again,  and  looking  again  at  the  eyes 
that  now  seemed  to  have  a  dark  shutter  drawn 
down  over  them.  Only  by  her  quickened  breath- 
ing could  he  have  guessed  her  passionate  shame. 

"So  glad  I  happened  to  come  in,"  said  her 
husband,  as  they  went  down  the  long  room 
together.  "  I  quite  envy  you  your  fame.  I'd 
write  a  book  myself  if  only  I  had  the  opportunity. 
My  wife  thinks  it  would  be  good  for  me  to  do 
something  of  that  sort.  She's  a  clever  woman — 
a  little  impulsive,  no  doubt,  but  I  believe  in 
woman's  rights.  And  we  all  like  a  woman  with 
a  bit  of  mettle  in  her,  don't  we  ?  " 

"Certainly  we  do,"  said  Cranleigh,  and  the 
monumental  footman  let  him  out. 

The  last  carriages  were  leaving  the  park,  the 
crowd  was  languidly  trailing  home,  the  air  was 
full  of  dust,  and  a  motor-car  clattered  past, 
leaving  cubic  acres  of  smell  in  its  wake. 

"I  was  despicably  happy  as  I  came,"  he 
thought  to  himself.  "I  wonder  why.  There 
was  not  the  least  reason  ;  but  how  glorious  it 
was ! " 


THE    PINNACLE    OF    FAME  379 

At  home  he  found  Christabel  standing  quietly 
at  one  end  of  the  room,  dressed  in  pale  greens  and 
blue  that  reflected  the  sunset  light  on  the  greens 
and  blue  of  the  outside  grass  and  sky.  Her  back 
was  towards  him,  and  she  was  fixing  a  dark  rose 
at  her  neck,  but  hearing  his  step  she  held  out 
one  hand  without  turning  round.  He  hesitated 
a  moment,  touching  it  timidly,  as  though  it  were 
a  stranger's.  Then  he  embraced  her  with  a 
passionate  tenderness,  an  almost  tearful  delight, 
such  as  he  had  not  known  before. 

"You  must  not,  you  really  must  not!"  she 
cried,  laughing.  "The  one  thing  I  cannot 
endure  is  being  dishevelled.  And  remember, 
we're  quite  respectably  married,  as  you  told  me 
this  morning." 

"  Never  say  that !  "  he  answered  fiercely. 

"Well  then,  disreputably  married,"  she 
laughed.  "And  if  you  don't  take  care,  I  shall 
have  to  do  my  hair  again,  and  as  to  dinner — of 
course  you  don't  mind  how  long  it  waits  or  how 
long  you  wait  for  it,  but  I  do.  I  belong  to  the 
regular,  prosaic,  and  greedy  sex." 

"There,  dear  one,  don't  mock  at  me,"  he  said 
rather  sadly.  "  I  know  I  must  seem  very  un- 
romantic  and  unimaginative  and  all  that.  I  think 


380  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

our  minds  are  built  in  water-tight  compartments, 
and  there  are  some  we  dare  not  open  for  fear  of 
sinking  the  ship.  But  we  pay  for  safety  by  the 
commonplace,  and  then  people  think  us  dull  as 
lead.  It's  a  great  pity." 

"  Not  at  all  a  pity,"  she  said,  as  they  went  into 
the  next  room.  "  Somebody  has  to  be  punctual 
as  a  star  and  constant  —  no,  I  don't  mean 
constant  —  I  mean  practical,  as  a  lighthouse. 
I  love  you  for  being  like  that,  just  as  you  must 
love  me  for  being  unpunctual  as  the  wind  and 
unpractical  as  a  rainbow  ;  and  those  are  both 
very  beautiful  things  too.  Besides,  who  has  been 
thinking  you  as  dull  as  lead  ?  That's  hardly  the 
right  word  for  your  first  great  day  of  glory  !  " 

"My  first  day  of  glory?"  he  repeated  absently. 

"Yes— *  The  Leader  and  the  Lady,  or  How 
I  found  Fame, '  as  the  title  of  a  novel  would  say ! 
Which  was  the  sweetest?  Of  course  you  must 
say  the  leader.  Was  it  the  lady  who  thought 
you  as  dull  as  lead  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  he  answered.  "I  thought 
so  myself,  and  that  is  the  thing  that  matters  most. 
Very  likely  she  thought  so  too.  She  was  not, 
strictly  speaking,  very  much  interested  in  com- 
parative anthropology,  after  all." 


THE    PINNACLE    OF    FAME  381 

"  Strictly  speaking,  she  wasn't  very  much 
interested  in  comparisons  between  one  man  and 
another,  after  all  ?  That  was  disappointing. 
What  did  she  think  of  your  hair  ?  " 

"  My  hair?  She  never  noticed  my  hair.  Why 
should  she?" 

"  Why  should  she?"  Christabel  echoed.  "And 
what  did  she  think  of  the  heroic  coat  ?  Did  she 
compare  it  to  the  flag  that  braved  a  thousand 
years  the  battle  and  the  breeze  ?  " 

"Don't  be  ridiculous,  dear  one,"  he  said. 
"Sensible  people  never  think  about  such  things, 
one  way  or  other." 

"Oh,  she  was  a  sensible  person,  was  she? 
Did  you  tell  her  so?" 

"  You  can  be  positively  exasperating  when  you 
choose,"  he  laughed. 

"What  did  you  tell  her  then  ?  " 

"Oh,  well,"  he  said,  "I  told  her  all  she  wanted 
to  know  about  the  native  customs." 

"  Thrilling  !  "  she  answered. 

"I  know,"  he  admitted  humbly.  "She  cer- 
tainly didn't  seem  much  interested  in  that  kind 
of  stuff,  in  spite  of  her  letter.  She  was  a  good 
deal  preoccupied  with  other  things." 

"Sad    things,    of    course,"    she    said.       "No 


382  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

ordinary  woman  ever  confides  her  happiness  to  a 
man.  I  hope  you  were  properly  sympathetic?" 

"I  didn't  say  she  was  an  ordinary  woman," 
he  answered.  "  But,  seriously,  the  poor  thing 
seemed  to  be  very  unhappy." 

"  If  you  ever  call  me  a  poor  thing,"  she  said, 
"I'll  tear  your  heart  out  and  slam  the  door! 
What  was  the  matter  with  the  poor  thing?  " 

"  I  was  wrong,"  he  answered.  "  She  was  very 
far  indeed  from  being  a  poor  thing." 

"  I  meant,  who  was  the  matter?  "  she  went  on. 
"  That  is  always  the  question  with  women." 

"  Oh,  no  one  in  particular,  I  think,"  he  said. 
"  Her  husband  came  in." 

"That  was  very  inconsiderate  of  him,"  she 
said.  "But  there's  always  the  husband.  Who 
else  was  the  matter?" 

"  No  one  was  the  matter,  as  far  as  I  know,"  he 
answered.  "  But  couldn't  we  leave  her  alone?  " 

"Are  you  going  to  shut  her  up  in  a  water- 
tight compartment?"  she  asked,  laughing. 

"  I  think  I  am,"  he  answered. 

"  Lest  she  should  sink  the  ship?  "  she  asked. 

"  Many  things  are  sad,"  he  said. 

"Why  sad?"  she  asked.  "How  was  she 
dressed  ?  " 


THE    PINNACLE    OF    FAME  383 

"Something  yellow —  I  mean  golden  —  I 
believe,"  he  answered. 

uThin  silk — very  soft — Empress  style?"  she 
said. 

"I  don't  know  about  Empress  style,"  he 
replied,  getting  up  to  cut  some  bread. 

She  followed  his  movements  with  an  amused 
but  searching  look,  and  at  last  she  laughed  out- 
right. 

"  I  sometimes  half  think  I  love  you,"  she  said, 
"and  I  know  you  love  me,  but  when  I  write  my 
immortal  work,  called  'The  Adult's  Guide  to 
Knowledge,'  the  first  question  in  the  book  will 
be,  '  What  woman  does  a  man  love  best  ? ' 
Answer:  'The  nearest.  '" 

"And  if  the  catechist  answered,  'The  furthest 
off'  ?  "  he  said  dreamily. 

"That  would  be  rude,"  she  replied.  "Has 
she  any  children  ?  "  she  added  in  a  softer  voice. 

"Knee-deep  in  them  already,  I  think,"  he 
answered. 

" Already ?"  she  sighed.  "Then  she's  quite 
young?  " 

She  drew  in  her  breath  suddenly  as  though  at 
a  spasm  of  pain,  and  passed  the  back  of  her  hand 
over  her  cheek. 


384  BETWEEN    THE    ACTS 

"  Was  he  quite  unendurable?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  said.  "A  bulgy,  jabbery, 
fatherly  sort  of  a  man,  that's  all." 

"  Loathsome  !  "  she  whispered,  and  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  and  yet  he  would  take 
the  prize  for  duty  anywhere." 

"I  hate  duty,"  she  said,  "it  is  a  stuffy  old 
female ! " 

"Well,"  he  went  on,  "the  man  certainly  re- 
minded me  of  one  stuffy  old  custom  you  find  in 
many  parts  of  the  world — the  woman,  you  know, 
gets  up  and  goes  out  into  the  fields,  and  the  man 
goes  to  bed  with  the  baby." 

"  I  shall  not  ask  you  to  do  that, "  she  said  shyly. 
"But  you  will  come  out  with  me  a  little  while 
into  the  fields  now,  won't  you,  dearest?  I  believe 
it  is  good  for — well — good  for  the  totem." 

"Totem?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  going  to  the  window,  "  I  call 
him  the  totem  at  present.  I  suppose  he's  as  good 
as  a  crest." 

"Crests  and  totems?"  he  said.  "Whose 
totem  ?  " 

"Why,  darling,"  she  said,  coming  quickly  to- 
wards him,  "  don't  you  remember  what  the  lead- 


THE    PINNACLE    OF    FAME  385 

ing  article  said  about  a  creature  with  digitated 
feet  that  is  to  hand  down  Mr.  Cranleigh's  name 
with  honour  to  remote  generations  ?  It  isn't  often 
that  a  journalist  is  so  prophetic,  or  a  man  of 
science  so  insufferably  stupid,  is  it  ? 

"  So  ends  our  first  day  of  fame,"  she  said  after 
a  while.  "  I  do  hope  he'll  be  famous,  splendidly 
famous." 

"  Oh,  don't  talk  about  fame,"  he  answered.  "I 
hope  he'll  do  everything  I  might  have  done,  and 
much  more  besides." 

"Now,  don't  be  melancholy,"  she  said. 
"  Melancholy  people  are  always  such  humbugs. 
I'm  never  serious  till  I  laugh,  and  besides,  your 
best  life  is  only  just  beginning." 

"Well  then,"  he  said,  laughing,  "I  hope  he 
will  live  among  what  someone  has  called  the 
glimpses  of  eternal  things." 

"Anybody  can  do  that,"  she  said. 

"  That  is  the  beauty  of  it, "  he  answered. 

"Yes,  that  is  the  beauty  of  it,"  she  said  with  a 
little  sigh  of  happiness,  looking  up  at  him  and 
smiling  with  joy. 


THE    BONE   CAVE 

So  bright  the  sea-worn  boulder  throws 
Up  from  the  beach  the  summer's  glare, 

That  all  the  cavern  ruddier  glows 

Than  a  black  heart  transfixed  and  bare. 

The  cavern's  mouth  is  tufted  o'er 
With  ancient  ivy  and  with  fern, 

And  far  along  the  murmuring  shore 
Is  heard  the  ancient  tide's  return. 

The  punctual  tide  returns,  as  when, 
In  hot  creation's  teeming  prime, 

Vast,  dreamy  monsters  of  the  fen 

Crawled  here  to  sun  their  coated  slime, 

Or  sprawl  within  the  dark  recess, 
From  lightning  hid  and  fiery  wind, 

Rending  with  cruel  wantonness 
The  coiled  embraces  of  their  kind. 

And  murmuring  thus  returned  the  tide, 
When  here  a  joyous  creature  ran, 

Haling  along  a  shaggy  bride 

To  nurse  the  whining  brood  of  man. 
386 


THE    BONE    CAVE  387 

The  cavern's  floor  is  deep  with  bones, 

There  lie  the  lizards,  layer  on  layer, 
As  innocent  as  shapeless  stones, 

And  man  is  couching  with  the  bear  ; 

And  all  is  silent  save  the  sea, 

Still  as  a  heart  with  memories  piled 
Of  dreamy  things  that  used  to  be, 

And  love  that  wept,  and  grief  that  smiled. 


PLYMOUTH 
WILLIAM   BRENDON   , 
PRINTERS 


A     000023671 


j 


